


By Summer's End

by Upupanyway



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cinderella Elements, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Identity Reveal, M/M, but they all resolve in the end, canon-typical child neglect and abuse from parental figures, don't worry too much about the warnings, everyone is very loved, like not fun stuff, the issues are discussed but not described in excruciating detail, warm tones despite some sad subject matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 05:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upupanyway/pseuds/Upupanyway
Summary: In the summer just before Matt and Foggy start law school, they meet. There's a masquerade ball involved.(the cinderella re-telling no one asked for)





	By Summer's End

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a cinderella inspired story, and there are still elements of it (the ball, the identity mystery, the abusive parents) but the actual story went a little off the rails. I wanted to write foggy with a secret identity. isn't that fun??

Matthew Murdock trained in the dark and musty basement of Fogwell’s gym. He hit a heavy bag to the rhythm of his pounding heart, reveled in the empty echo of the space. The chains strained, the leather absorbed his exertion. He didn’t stop when his fists started to sour in pain, nor when the sweat on his brow salted his eyes, nor when he heard familiar footsteps approaching him in an excited, even patter.

“Matthew! Did you hear?” Elektra sing-songed as she barged into the training room. She waved a piece of paper in front of her.

“I hear lots of things. What are you referring to this time?” Matt said plainly. The punching bag finally started to lose its momentum as he stopped beating at it. He reached for a water bottle and took deep gulps. The creaking chains swung in place, matching in time to Elektra’s calculated stride, slowing as she landed in front of him.

“There’s going to a masquerade ball for Sharpe’s son. Apparently, he’s still being a bad little heir and she’s making a point to embarrass him as much as possible," she gossiped.

Matt sighed. He had thought this might be interesting news. “What did he do now?” He had heard Elektra talk about him far too often, and she was always far too admiring.

Rosalind Sharpe was the most powerful woman in New York, and she was in the top 5 nation-wide. Making a killing representing the wealthiest businesses in the country, she had her fingers in everything. She was involved in donation campaigns, politics, international trade negotiations, she was even on the counsel that gave mutants a “protected class” designation in the Constitution. She was a philanthropist, a culture critic, an activist, a business innovator. She was the jewel of the city.

On the other hand, Franklin Sharpe, her only known offspring, was somehow always a headliner for other reasons. He always seemed to be causing some sort of trouble, which meant he was a hot commodity for paparazzi. A sure story. When he was twelve, he snuck out of his home to steal from the corner store. When he was fifteen, he was spotted guiding a drunk girl into his home at 3am. When he was nineteen, he got his ears pierced. Somehow, he always seemed to be doing the wrong thing. Now, at twenty-two years old, he’s on the cusp of adulthood, and his mother was trying to get him to associate with more proper folk before heading into law school.

“So what’s her endgame, do you think?” Matt asked, just to entertain his friend. He took a seat on the dusty mat, and Elektra followed him down. The sweat was cooling on his skin now, but the basement continued to swelter.

“Well, considering that everyone who will be attending Columbia next semester is invited, I think she’s just trying to let him network. But, considering that Franklin opened up the invitation to anyone just wanting a good time, I think he’s trying to sabotage it. Seems the type doesn't he?” she mused gleefully. “Do you think Stick would let me seduce him?”

Elektra loved following the news on Franklin. She was under the notion that they were kindred spirits. She was likewise young, rebellious, and from an upper rung socialite background. She hadn't quite met the man yet, but she always said that it felt inevitable. She was convinced that they'd get along  _ swimmingly _ .

“If it’s  _ you _ , I’m sure he would,” Matt snarked.

“What do you mean by that?” Elektra asked, aloof as ever, reading over the paper one more time before handing it over to Matt.

“He likes you better. You can’t not have noticed. He lets you travel, he lets you date, and he’s not constantly on your ass about training 24/7,” Matt complained as he ran his fingers over the thick paper and embossed invitation.

_ To the students at Columbia University (both prospective and otherwise), _

_ It is our great pleasure to present Franklin Sharpe as a part of your new student body! As such, it is our honor to invite you over for a masquerade ball to kick off the semester. Please RSVP by July 27th with your proof of enrollment. We shall see you at Dévoiler Hall at 6:30pm on August 16th. _

_ Signed, _

_ Rosalind Sharpe _

_ Associates _

_ And the Faculty of Columbia University _

There was an email address at the bottom to RSVP in the same embossed type. More pressingly, a lazy scrawl cut across the margins. It read, “or, if you’re not a student, come anyway! RSVP as a ‘friend of Franklin’ -F.S.”

“Matthew, he’s not your guardian, he’s just a coach. You can do whatever you want. Don’t let him get to you like that,” Elektra was saying. They’d been over it a million times. Just because Elektra had been more enthusiastic about Stick’s lesson plan at the outset did not make her Stick’s favourite. Stick wouldn’t even have favourites.

They had been scouted at around the same time, just months apart. At the time, Elektra was a young and volatile girl who needed to fit into proper society. Matt was a blind recent orphan who was, according to Sister Miriam, "at risk for future violent tendencies." Both of them needed an outlet, and somehow Stick found them.

It wasn't long before he started hurling insults at them rather than actual useful advice. He had started spouting some cock and bull about a war, and both Matt and Elektra feared he was just going senile.

Months ago, Stick had told them to kill a dog. Only one of them went through with it and now, Matt had been thinking his time with Stick is just about over. He just needed to find a way to leave without getting beaten up by the only father-adjacent figure he's had since... well, since.

“Is this guy serious? Do you think he wrote this on every invitation?” Matt asked incredulously. Matt was not a huge fan of this Franklin guy, who seemed like a total tool. He got an elaborate party just for him, yet he still wanted to ruin it somehow. It was the height of privilege, things Matt would never even chance a taste at, and the Sharpe heir was being infuriatingly flippant with it.

“Honestly, with what I surmise of him, I wouldn’t put it above him. Regardless,  _ you  _ actually got into Columbia, so it doesn’t matter.” Actually, it didn’t matter because Matt wasn’t going. To the ball or Columbia. The former, he had no interest in, and the latter was a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything fun or alluring in the prospect of spending an evening clinking glasses with a bunch of uppity jerks who didn’t need the scholarships they inevitably received and Matt would not be spending his precious time in the throes.

“Ugh no, have fun seducing him. I’m not going,” he dismissed, giving Elektra back the piece of paper with far less care than it was given to him.

Elektra sighed and rested her elbows on her knees. “Matthew, not only is this the biggest young socialite event I’ve ever seen, it’s also practically open invite and there will be a lot of your future classmates in attendance. It’s like pre-orientation! You really should consider it. I want to see you with some friends.”

“I have you,” Matt pouted.

“And I’m moving back to Greece with my father by summer’s end,” she reminded him gently. “I want to know you’ll be alright here without me.”

Matt frowned at her because she probably had a point. Matt didn’t socialize much with peers. Still, he didn’t think a masquerade ball was the answer.

“Let’s spar before Stick gets here, or else he’ll be on you like a hawk despite your perfect form.”

“So you do recognize that he likes you better,” Matt said. He smiled sharply through the hurt.

“Yeah, but he’d like you a lot more if you were more violent,” Elektra replied darkly, gathering her hair into a tight ponytail. “He’s not that hard a man, just very single-minded.”

“You know I can’t do that, Elektra,” he told her, softer, this time. He remembered the feeling of the knife in his hands, the shaking whimpers of a frightened dog.

“And that’s why I like you.” She sprung up from her legs, floating on her hands. Her kick landed squarely in Matt’s chest, toppling him from his seated position. He could already feel her imminent victory.

-

Matt dragged himself home by the dim moonlight. Not that it mattered much to him, anyway. If anything, the quiet street let him walk a little more confidently than usual, not having to play up his blindness for a crowd.

There weren’t a lot of people out this late, much less this corner of Hell’s Kitchen, which was still on the cusp of some wealthier neighbourhood where the CCTV was abundant and patrol vehicles came around every fifteen minutes. There were more convenient locations for crime in this city, and Matt was frighteningly aware of said crime.

Which is why he was caught off guard when a body came barrelling towards him in a full sprint. He had been tracking the heavy footfall for several blocks and he knew it was coming, but he still startled at the voice when it called out to him.

“On your left!” a gasping, frantic voice yelled.

Before he could respond, a hand grabbed his and pulled the pair of them into a dark crevice between buildings. Before he could ask anything, a hand covered his mouth and Matt fought the urge to bite it. What the hell was going on?

Just then, a larger group, even heavier and clumsier on their feet, passed them in a clamouring cacophony.

When they were out of earshot, Matt indulged in his violent impulse to bite the hand on his mouth.

“Ouch! Shit,” the voice exclaimed. “Okay, yeah, I know that was a dick move. I’m sorry. I was just afraid you’d get trampled by my entourage.”

“What was that?” Matt demanded.

“Just some guys looking for a bar fight,” explained the voice, as if that was supposed to mitigate the situation. “I told them we should take it outside, so here we are.”

“Oh, a mysterious stranger who gets into bar fights,” Matt deadpanned. “I feel so much safer.”

“Well, it’s not like I started it. They were already riled up! I just suggested going outside! You know how it goes. People just look at me funny, sometimes.” The other man stared at him for a second. "Oh, shit, you're blind! Now I'm really sorry about grabbing you out of nowhere." 

Whoever this guy was, it was grating to hear him flounder. Matt didn’t like him at all.

"Yeah," Matt agreed harshly and turned out of the damp and acrid alley to continue his night.

"Let me walk you home," the voice offered easily. "I'm Foggy."

Matt shook his head in disbelief. "That's not a real name," Matt scoffed. "Also, that's really presumptuous of you. I don’t need your help getting home." He had no patience for any of this. He picked up his pace and tried to shake the other man off of his tail.

"Hey, man. I really am sorry! Let me make it up to you!" Matt knew that the stranger, Foggy (which was not his real name) wasn't actively trying to be pushy, but Matt had just endured three whole hours of Stick caning him for poor form and Matt was bruised and headachey and not in the mood for this situation.

Matt snapped. It was not his proudest moment. "Look, buddy, I've had a really long day and I'm not in the mood for company. I just want to get home. Good luck with that whole bar fight thing,  _ Foggy _ ," he said sharply, turning on his heel and leaving the stranger in the dust.

The guy backed off, but not for long. He followed Matt back home, just a few paces behind him. Of course, Matt could take him in a fight. The guy was only about 200lbs and around Matt’s height. By the way he ran, Matt knew he wasn't a trained combatant. Still, it pissed Matt off that the guy was so patronizing. He could look after himself, and he generally didn't take kindly to stalkers.

But the guy stopped to watch him from across the street as Matt walked into his apartment building. He didn't make any other moves to harass and he let Matt go freely. He didn't even linger. Even still, Matt was on edge now that a potentially violent stranger knew where he lived.

-

The caution was unwarranted, it seemed. Matt figured it out a few days later, when he overheard Foggy's voice talking with a woman at a coffee shop. They were seated inside by the window, overlooking the warm, sunny day.

"It's such a stupid party idea, Marci, I can't believe it's actually happening," he complained to Marci. They were sharing a frappuccino between the two of them, some far-too sugary monstrosity. “A masquerade ball? Really? What century are we in?”

"Rich parents do what they gotta do," she shrugged. "Mine threw me a goddamn debutante ball when I was 16, remember?"

Foggy hummed. "I remember sneaking you out so you could eat questionable hot dogs by moonlight," he affirmed.

"And it was terribly romantic, wasn't it, Foggy-bear?" She touched his hand and the mood inexplicably became tender between the pair. Foggy broke it with an effervescent laugh.

"The vendor asked if I stole a bride. I gotta say, with the way your parents handled me after, it didn't feel that far off."

"God, what did your  _ mother  _ say?"

"She didn't say anything! She just shook her head and let Judith discipline me." Foggy shivered. “I spent the whole summer holed up at my dad’s.

"You love your dad," she pointed out.

"Yeah, jokes on her, right? I’m a delight and she should love seeing me." He sighed dramatically. "Anyway, are you going to the party?"

"Of course I'll go. I have to represent the second years at Columbia somehow."

“Let me hang around you, then."

Matt wasn't getting a lot of information from the conversation, but all in all, it seemed that Foggy had at least one high society friend (girlfriend?) and that the relationship had been going on for a long time. He didn't seem to be particularly creepy or stalkerish, but the real creeps and stalkers never do. Still, this Foggy guy seemed just to be more or less a normal sort of guy who didn't much enjoy rich folk. Matt could relate.

Matt had been walking towards them and he would have to pass the pair to get to the gym. In a few seconds, he’d be in their field of vision. Foggy would recognize him. It’d be awkward and they’d talk about him where he’s not supposed to hear and Matt would have to move on and pretend he wasn’t listening. It would be uncomfortable. Matt braced for the inevitable.

Except, when Foggy did look directly at him, his heart rate didn’t change at all. Not even a spark of recognition, much less mortification or fear. He turned quickly back to Marci and continued their chat about costume ideas. Matt wondered for a second what it must be like, when narrowly escaping brawlers was a normal enough occurrence that Foggy didn’t remember the guy he followed home. He wondered, for a flash, what it might be like to have a friend willing to sneak him out of too-constricting social situations for questionable hot dogs in formal wear.

Matt continued his walk towards the gym and didn’t dwell on it.

-

Street harassment in New York isn’t an uncommon experience, especially for people who, more or less, stick out. It wasn’t Matt’s first rodeo with a pickpocket/mugger tag team, and he knew how to handle things.

He tapped his cane innocently at the mugger’s feet.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he said, almost apologetically.

“Have any spare change?” the man asked gruffly, though not necessarily unkind.

“Sorry, sir, I don’t carry around a lot of cash. I’ll see what I have, though.” He moved to make a show of rummaging through his gym bag, fumbling for his wallet. On his way, he swung his cane over to the pickpocket sneaking up behind him, nailing him in the chest. “Sorry,” he said. “Say, were you trying to steal from me?” he asked, peachy as ever.

“Guilty as charged. Fork over your wallet or you’re gonna be skewered,” the inchoate pickpocket threatened.

Matt smirked because he had the advantage of knowing that neither of the guys had any weapons on them.

“Fellas, I know times are tough, but this just ain’t the way!” Matt said, trying to side-step out of the situation and being crowded against the nearest wall.

There was a punch coming his way, but Matt simply turned his head obviously so that it handed hard on the cold concrete wall behind him.

“Sonuva-” the broader man, the mugger, cursed, crumpling to cool his aching hand.

“You think this is worth it, Jazz?” the leaner man, the pickpocket, asked. “This kid looks like he’s got a twenty on him if we’re lucky. And he’s slippery to boot!”

“Alright, we’ll leave well enough alone,” the mugger agreed. Then he turned to give Matt a warning. “Watch your back, kid. Hell’s Kitchen eats up its own.” The pair left, grumbling between themselves, and Matt could hear their stomachs rumble.

“Thank you, sirs. I’ll keep that in mind.” Matt adjusted his glasses as the pair slinked off into the night. Matt liked to think they found a couple of bucks somehow. Enough for a warm meal, at least. Unfortunately, the pickpocket was right. The twenty he had just earned for helping Ricky clean up the gym was all he was packing and he needed it for groceries tomorrow.

A late night traveller jogged up to him. “Hey,” the man greeted in Foggy’s voice. “Were those guys giving you trouble just now?” Matt blinked at him. Maybe he was just going crazy, but it seemed like Foggy was everywhere, now. Their third encounter in a week.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Matt responded.

“Alright. I’m Foggy, by the way. I can walk you home, if you want.”

“Matt,” he said with his nose upturned. Haughtily, he stuck out his hand and Foggy gave it a slap, a sideways high-five.

Ah yes, there it was. The heart stutter of recognition. Foggy slapped his forehead and laughed self-consciously.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Foggy asked.

“Bar fight, wasn’t it?” ventured Matt. The meanness was slowly dissipating from his voice.

Foggy made an excited noise and jumped around a little. “That was me!” He seemed genuinely excited to be recognized as “bar fight” and it sent Matt reeling. What  _ was  _ this kid?

Matt let himself be walked home this time, mostly out of sheer curiosity. Turned out, he didn’t need to flex his meagre social muscles because Foggy was happy to share himself as if friendly conversation was his default setting.

Foggy talked about everything and nothing. Ten minutes into the conversation, Matt was still confused as ever, despite now knowing the intimate details of Foggy’s sock preferences. “And Theo’s getting so old now. It’s crazy!” he exclaimed, as if it mattered to Matt. “He’s always been the baby brother, but even he’s starting high school next semester. I remember when he was a toddler!”

“Must be weird, huh?” Matt smiled, but it was thin and tentative. He had not counted on Foggy being so full of…  _ joie de vivre  _ in the purest sense. It was almost nice, listening to him ramble on about nothing in particular as Matt soaked in the vicarious familiarity and comfort of a warm family environment. And maybe if he was Foggy’s friend, he could live in the periphery of that.

Foggy nodded excitedly. “Super weird. Now I know I’m getting old, too. I’m turning twenty three next February. I’ll be in my  _ mid _ -twenties. Blegh. And I’m still in school! What kind of cosmic justice is that?”

Matt wanted to see how long Foggy would keep talking. “Are you?”

“Yeah, It’s like, I just graduated and now I have to start at square one again.”

“Grad school? I wasn’t aware that I've been talking to an educated bachelor.”

“Yep! Eligible as they come!” Foggy beamed. “I’m only in these parts for four months, actually. Until I can move into my dorm.”

Matt considered this. He wasn’t disappointed, per se. They had only just met ten minutes ago. Foggy was an interesting conversationalist, is all.

“Columbia, actually. I’ll be at that masquerade ball. You should come,” Foggy invited. “Actually, please come. I feel like I need someone like you present.”

Matt scoffed, but fondly. “Trying to look good next to the poor, blind kid?”

Foggy laughed uncomfortably. Yeah, that was probably too far too soon. Matt berated himself. He just had to be normal. It shouldn’t be this hard. “I was going to say I want to show you off to my friend, Marci. She’s convinced I’m lying about having friends from this side of town.”

Matt laughed openly, and shut up because he feared it came across as snide. “Do you have other friends here?” Matt didn’t know for sure, but he felt like four months wasn’t enough to branch out. Maybe that was just him.

“Well, there’s this guy from way back when. He’s just fresh out the police academy, but we don’t really talk much anymore. I don’t know if this is too personal, but kids didn’t like me much when I was little. Neighbourhood moms didn’t like my mom,” Foggy explained. “Just your typical traumatized child of divorce or what have you.”

“But you got a place here for the summer?”

“Yeah, I like being close to my dad. The Nelsons come in swarms, so they didn’t have much room for me, but my birth mother is just  _ suffocating _ .”

“I get that,” Matt sympathized. “I don’t know if  _ this  _ is too personal, but I’m technically an orphan. But my, uh, MMA coach has been getting at me pretty hard lately.”

“Ooh, an athlete! No wonder you’re so hot,” Foggy exclaimed.

Matt blushed, despite himself, and he grinned at the other boy. Then, he felt like a dick because the guy had a probably-girlfriend.

“Haha, thanks?” he said, rubbing material of his cane handle with clammy hands. “I wish I could return the compliment.” God, Matt should shut up forever.

Foggy didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m very handsome,” he laughed, generously ignoring the discursive misstep. “And don’t freak out, but I may have noticed where you lived from the last time and I think this is you.” Foggy stopped walking.

Matt took a second to collect himself and reached out to feel the staircase with his cane. He was, indeed, home now.

“So it is. Nelson, was it?” Matt said, scrambling for the family name he had just heard. “Mr. Nelson, it’s been a pleasure,” Matt smiled, sticking his hand out for Foggy to shake. Foggy’s heart, in turn, fluttered gratifyingly in Matt’s ears.

Foggy took it and lowered himself into a deep bow. It was completely anachronistic for a couple of twentysomethings in the twenty-first century, but it was also extremely charming. Princely, almost. Foggy Nelson was adorable.

“I, um, I just bowed, if you couldn’t tell. It was awkward. I don’t know. I panicked,” Foggy said, good humoured, laughing at himself. “I’m just the next block over, if you ever want to visit, by the way. 1604, suite 27. Actually, if you want to visit me during the day I’ll probably be at Nelson’s Meat and Deli down towards the station.”

Now that he mentioned it, Foggy did smell like beef and salt. It suited him, whatever that meant.

“Will do, Nelson. Will do.” Foggy’s heart fluttered again and Matt walked himself to the door.

-

Between training, casual work, and hanging out with Elektra, Matt didn’t have a lot of time to explore his hometown. Not with his feet, anyway. He did spend stretches of time laying it out with his ears and tongue, but sometimes that wasn’t enough. 

It was through a concerted effort that Matt would never admit to that he did end up at Nelson’s Meat and Deli. Usually, he would buy meat on sale, but he had taken a night shift or two at Fredo’s diner the past few nights. He hadn’t been saving up, per se. He had merely wanted to visit Elektra uptown and he needed cash in case she wanted an impromptu milkshake or some new shoes as was her wont. He was coming home from the station at about 7pm when the smell of fresh meat, herbs, and salt wafted towards him and the memory of Foggy’s laugh echoed in his mind.

“Hello!” a kid greeted. A young teen. Not Foggy. Wrong shop. Or, wrong time. “What can I get for you, sir?”

“Um,” Matt started sheepishly. “I could actually use a little direction, if you don’t mind.”

Suddenly, a larger body in the back room, a lounge of sorts, rushed to standing and pushed past the door.

“Matt, is that you? It’s your pal Foggy!” Foggy called, bright as the days were long. Oh, thank God. “I’ll be right out, buddy!” He washed his hands at the sink and put on some plastic gloves before taking the till. The teen nudged him, giving him a long look before settling into a chair in the back room to play on his phone. “Alright, what do you want?”

“I don’t know, what’s good?” Matt shrugged. He smiled as helplessly as he could.

“Well, are you looking to cook something or slap it on a sandwich?”

“I’m not much of a cook,” Matt admitted, a little embarrassed. He was young though. He had time to learn.

Foggy whimpered in sympathy. “A travesty. I gotta share Anna’s brisket recipe with you sometime,” Foggy offered easily. Then, he caught himself. “I mean, I don’t mean to sound too eager or desperate or anything, but I happen to be a great cook and you’re skinny. I get grandmotherly instincts, is all.”

Foggy shuffled to the left display and started cutting up some meat into thin sheets, quickly enough to overwhelm Matt with the taste of it as it met the air. He salivated.

“Okay, so since you’re not learned in the finer elements of kosher meat curing, I’m going to give you some of my favourites that I think you’d like. This is a peppered turkey, because my old man was really proud of this recipe. And, as a gift from me, your buddy Foggy, you’re also getting a portion of that beef salami over there,” he called from the deli slicer.

He packaged both meats up neatly in some paper and brought them to the counter without even weighing anything.

“How much do I owe you?” Matt asked, taking the paper parcels in his hand. Weightier than he expected. He dug into the pockets of his sweatpants and held out some neatly folded up bills.

“Let’s say five bucks,” Foggy said, picking up what Matt knew was a dollar from his hand. Matt was definitely sure his fist was worth a lot more, just by weight alone. “And I hate to be  _ presumptuous _ , but could I also get your number? No funny business, I swear, but we’ve met three times, now, so I figure we can try to make conscious efforts to hang out.” Foggy was smiling hopefully, Matt could just tell.

He smiled back and wrote his number on the back of some receipt paper. “I guess we’re square, then. Thanks.”

“Come again anytime. I’ll be here all summer!”

Matt packed up Foggy’s gifts neatly in his bag and stepped out onto the street with a spring in his step. Surprising, because Matt didn’t conjure up the bounce to his stride, nor did he control the jovial air that enveloped him, but both of those persisted nonetheless. As soon as the door chime rang, the child was out from the back room and teasing Foggy.

“Were you out here just to flirt?” the kid asked, poking Foggy on the side.

“He was a  _ friend _ ,” Foggy explained. “Can’t your big brother have friends, now?”

“Not if you’re going to undersell our prized meat like that,” the teen chided expertly.

“It’s the end of the day and we have a rotating stock,” Foggy defended. “I’ll make up the difference.” He was meek.

“You’re supposed to be making a  _ profit _ . You know you have school after this, right?”

“I’ll be  _ fine _ , Theo.”

The boy, Foggy’s brother, Theo, sighed with a weariness too deep for his age. “You’d have made more taking that internship this summer. You have plenty of credentials.”

“It’s my last summer before I’ll be knee-deep in  _ mom  _ and career building. I wanted to spend it with you guys,” Foggy said.

Theo groaned loudly. “Don’t make this gross,” he warned.

“Bring it in, asshole,” Foggy beckoned and wrapped his brother up in a deep hug that Theo reluctantly reciprocated.

“This is gross,” Theo said without pulling away.

Matt smiled at the pair of them. Foggy was also incredibly sweet, apparently.

-

Foggy was a saint and the meat was delicious. Matt ate through the packages preciously, eating the goods alone or with toasted bread. Plain, so as not to mask the flavour like he would with his usual cheap luncheon meat.

“Don’t you usually buy sale items? Where did you get this?” Elektra asked during a visit, holding up his last few ounces of salami. She was helping Matt work through his fridge for things that would expire within the week.

“Just some deli in the Kitchen,” Matt shrugged.

She watched him carefully. “Is she cute?”

“He’s adorable,” Matt answered dreamily. “I gave him my number.”

“That’s extremely quick for you. He must be something.” She sounded impressed.

Matt shook his head with a smile. “I just don’t know if he’s entirely good for me. I think he hates authority more than you do. I met him running away from a bar fight. I feel actual anarchical vibes from him. He may or may not smell like deli meat and weed all the time. And he’s leaving town after the summer,” Matt listed. If this was a good idea, Elektra would encourage him to go for it. If it was a bad idea, she’d do it with a wicked grin and a lewd suggestion. God, he loved Elektra.

“You could stand to be a little sordid, Matthew,” Elektra encouraged, scraping the moldy cheddar and grating it up. Matt grinned stupidly. “Seduce him. Start wearing those really tight T-shirts again.”

“I can’t do that. He’s sweet. I can’t just play with him like that.”

“Then be upfront about it. As long as you’re not leading him on, it should be fine, no? Does he seem receptive?”

Matt sighed. He didn’t really know how friendships were supposed to work. Was this even a crush or was he just craving positive attention? Was Foggy interested or just friendly? Oh, there probably was something he should mention.

“He might have a girlfriend,” Matt admitted.

“So I reiterate my point about those T-shirts,” she steamrolled on.

“Elektra,” he warned, not at all shocked by the suggestion. He did have a lot of tight T-shirts.

“Fine. You can be a decent human who respects the exclusivity inherent to monogamy. Maybe you can even befriend her.”

“I don’t know if I want to be friends with her,” Matt pouted.

Elektra cackled at him. “Oh your  _ face _ , Matthew. You have such a crush!” she teased relentlessly, poking his cheek. “I’m at least glad I know you’re capable of making friends now. You’ll have a great time in university.”

“Are you training with Stick tonight?” Matt asked to change the subject.

Suddenly, his friend went dark and sombre, picking up the discarded knife and slicing up some onions. “No, I’m not training with him anymore at all. I’ve already done too much for him.”

“Oh?” Matt grew serious, too.

She kept cutting up the onions and the fumes filled the air. “You could just leave him, too. I got away with three broken bones and a nasty black eye, but it’s so much freer on this side. Don’t let it turn into something you’ll regret.” She sniffled.

Matt pondered this. Before he could ask when she quit or how, even before his concern for her well-being escaped his throat, he just said,“You know it’s not that easy.”

Elektra dropped the knife and caught his hand. "Matt, that man is not capable of the love you need. I know you feel like there's no one to give that to you. But you'll find real love. You don't need him."

Matt twisted uncomfortably out of her grasp. Elektra was never one to be emotional.

"You don't get it, Elektra. You have your dad and your social circle. I don’t,” Matt pointed out. He grasped for the other points that had been bubbling in his brain. “And besides. He made me better. I couldn't do anything before he helped me control myself. I don't care if he doesn't love me. I don't need his love, I still owe him my life."

Elektra shook her head sadly and slowly, cautiously, dragged him in for a hug.

"You don't owe that fucker anything."

He could feel it now. The stutter of her breath, the gentle movement of broken ribs. And she was Stick's favourite.

-

"Are you free later?" Foggy asked from the kitchen space, hacking away expertly at a sheep’s carcass. It was 7 in the morning, far too early for normal folk, but Foggy was ever-chipper. Matt was seated in the deli at a small table across from the displays. He was having some bad coffee that Foggy had put on for them, and he had actually downed most of it. The paper cup smelled like chicken sausage.

"I have to work," Matt frowned. He had agreed to take a shift at the florist's. His least favourite job, on account of how he was "allergic to pollen" (in reality, the scents of all those plants made him physically ill), but he had rent to pay. Mr. and Mrs. Tanh were lovely and generous with their payment because they had opened up the shop after retiring. They weren’t trying to turn a profit. They also didn't have any grandchildren, so they appreciated Matt's company and Matt liked their welcoming nature.

"When does your shift end?" Foggy asked, cutting up a leg.  _ Chop _ .

"I'm done at 7, but I have training afterwards. Sorry," Matt said, full of genuine regret.

"Damn, are you training up for something?"

_ Chop  _ .

"There's, uh, a sparring event in a few weeks," Matt said. There  _ was  _ an event. Matt had heard it through the grapevine, but he wasn’t competing. In actuality, Stick was going a little mad and sputtering his usual schlock about the Hand, and Matt was getting disciplined harder for it, now that Elektra was gone. Matt dreaded training nowadays. On the one hand, he didn't know if he wanted to keep being Stick's disciple. On the other, he didn't know what life would look like without it.

"I could come support you," Foggy suggested. "And if you want more than one friend, I can bring Marci along."

Foggy had been trying to get the two to meet. Apparently, Marci was becoming increasingly convinced that Matt didn't exist, and Matt had been doing everything in his power to avoid her. He didn't want to be a third wheel, especially if they were going to be affectionate in his presence. Foggy was constantly flirting with  _ Matt _ , and Foggy was very physically generous. He didn't think he could handle and evening of Foggy being like that in earnest toward someone else. It was just uncomfortable. And Matt wasn’t competing.

"You really don't have to. It’s probably not the best date idea.”

Foggy laughed.

_ Chop _ .

“It won’t be the worst date I’ve taken her on. And we’re just friends, Matt. We dated, but we aren’t dating. She’ll be thrilled to find out you exist.”

Still, Matt had witnessed them together, just out and about. They were clearly still attracted to each other. “Still, you really don’t have to support me in any way. I’m not that good, actually. If I fall on my ass, I won’t be able to live down the fact that you guys came just to watch me fail.”

“C’mon, you’re genuinely dedicated to this thing. I’ll get to find out what the other half of your life is like,” Foggy argued.

“Well, when you say it like that,” Matt frowned. “I’ll be even more devastated when I fail because you make it seem like I don’t have a life otherwise. You’re definitely not coming.”

Foggy blew a raspberry into the air. “Phooey to you, my good sir. Where are you working today?”

“I’m at the Tranhs’. I’m allergic to pollen, but they give me Vietnamese snacks sometimes.”

“You’re a daring soul, my guy,” Foggy nodded sagely. “But Mr. Tranh’s banh xeo is delicious, so I totally get it. Tell them ‘hi’ for me.”

Matt perked up. “Do you know them?” Matt asked. He was curious about Foggy’s life, too.

“Yeah, they used to babysit me and my siblings when we were way young. There used to be a hardware store beside them. That was my dad before he met my step-mom, but the Tranhs kept in touch after we shifted vocations. They let me make such a huge mess of their apartment,” he reminisced fondly.

“What got your family into meat?”

Foggy shrugged in that way people shrug just before they’re about to brag. “Anna’s family has this restaurant out on Staten Island, actually. She managed their stock for a while, but it eventually expanded into this. She has a good head for business, you know? Look at how gorgeous our supply is!” he said proudly, gesturing with his knife.

“I can’t,” Matt pointed out. “Smells like meat, though.”

_ Chop _ .

“Funny,” Foggy said in lieu of laughing. “I’ll let you get going. You should probably start misting leaves in a few. It’s already almost 8.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.” Matt struggled upright and slogged out the door, still fighting sleep.

“I’m seeing the tournament, Matt!” Foggy called after him. "And you're actually meeting Marci!"

Matt left to the familiar tune of the Nelson Meats electronic door chime.

_ Chop _ .

-

At 4:00pm that same day, the chimes jolted Matt from his station at the stem clippings. He had been stripping the roses of thorns when Foggy jaunted in.

"Foggy!" Mrs. Tranh called from the till. She rushed to greet him with a hug. "You've gotten so big!"

"And I come bearing gifts!" Foggy exclaimed, holding up a bag of, well, assorted meats. "It’s not much, but they’re great for broth."

"Always so considerate." She patted his cheek softly. "You know where the fridge is in the back?"

Foggy nodded. "It's just past that scrawny looking nerd over there, right?" Matt quirked a smile as Foggy gestured in his direction.

"Ah, so you've met our Matthew, haven't you?"

"He's a delight, Mrs. Tranh." Foggy made his way over to Matt and bumped him on the shoulder amicably on his way to placing the bag of meat in the fridge.

“You’re early,” Matt commented.

“Rabbi Saltzman came for a visit so dad let me go to chat for a bit. Then, I snuck out to see you.” Foggy explained, poking Matt on the nose. "What's up with you?"

"Oh, you know, just de-thorning the entire rose catalogue in New York," Matt shrugged. He picked one of them up from his bucket and presented it to Foggy.

"Oh, for me? You shouldn't have!" Foggy gave a bubbly laugh and stuck the smooth stem behind his ear. "Actually, I have something for you, too." Foggy reached into his bag and pulled out a tupperware container. Matt took it and opened the lid to smell the contents. It was divine.

"Just some roast veggies and steak. I had some time, so you get a treat," Foggy shrugged. "Apparently protein is good for building muscle."

It had been a long day, and it was going to be way longer. Matt was ready for some well-cooked food. He was already salivating, as he often was when Foggy cooked.

"Thanks," Matt said, choked up on the whole friendship element.

"And I got these," Foggy said, waving two small rectangles in the air. Matt waited. "I'm holding up two tickets to the Brawling Badlands next month. That's the competition you were talking about, right?"

"Sure, yeah. Yeah," Matt nodded. Oh, great, now he'd have to sign up for something. "Why'd you get tickets so early?"

"I wanted to get front row for all three days! The internet says if you get tickets before the line up's announced you can get anything," he explained, shoving the tickets back into his bag's front pocket.

"Forewarning, you might get spit on. Or bleeded on," Matt said in a last ditch effort to dissuade Foggy.

"Matthew, it would be an honour to have you bleed on me," Foggy assured seriously. Matt smiled at him, though his lips felt thin and anemic.

"Alright, I guess you're coming to see me fight."

"Huzzah! We've convinced him, boys!" Foggy said, patting Matt on the shoulder. "Hey, if you don't mind me asking, how do you fight when you're blind? I don't know if that's insensitive or anything, but it seems complicated."

Oh, was it ever? "Yeah, pretty complicated. I guess I'm mostly trying to get a read on my opponent. If I feel like he's a left hook kinda guy or he likes to start with a tackle. I don't know, it's almost like an instinct." Matt hoped that wasn't too telling. Most days, he relied on sighted people's ignorance on the blind experience to leverage into a semi-normal explanation without getting into the whole radiation thing.

"Show me sometime," Foggy requested.

Matt hesitated. Would it be too much? Would Foggy freak out? Probably not. Hopefully not. Foggy was an open-minded man.

"Alright," he agreed before he could change his mind. "Come to Fogwell's on Saturday."

-

"Hey, Ricky? I know it's a little late to be asking now, but do you mind if I do a few rounds at the Brawl next month?"

"You kidding, Matty? Battlin' Jack's boy in the ring for the first time? We'd sell out in a minute!"

"Thanks, Rick."

-

Saturday rolled around in no time and Foggy clamoured into the gym in a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt right at 8am.

"What are you wearing?" Matt asked curiously as Foggy’s shorts swished with his stride.

"Okay, you're gonna have to promise not to laugh,” Foggy started.

Matt held up two fingers in a solemn oath.

Foggy exhaled bracingly. "Alright. I haven't been to the gym in a while and I didn't have anything athletic that fit, so I'm wearing a pair of booty shorts Marci got me for Halloween when she was Frank N Furter and I was Rocky,” he said in one breath.

Matt didn't laugh. Really. "Are they shiny?"

"Yes. We had to be accurate to the story, Matt!" Foggy radiated heat. Lightly, he reached over to slap Matt on the shoulder, but Matt caught his wrist easily.

"Oh, no. Are these sweatbands? What decade are we in?"

Foggy laughed along this time. "I have one on my head, too!" He guided Matt's hand to his forehead and giggled when Matt made a face of mock horror.

Another fact that Matt learned in that moment was that Foggy's hair was very soft.

"You'll be thanking me for it when I'm a sweaty mess just from the heat alone," Foggy said as he bounced his way further into the gym. "Alright, dude, show me how you do the whole martial arts thing."

"Let's start with a warm up, Matt said, holding up some jump rope.

-

"This is exhausting!" Foggy whined as he limp-wristed a weak punch towards Matt. It was Foggy's first time in the ring and he was floundering spectacularly.

"It's practicing! I've been doing this since I was 9, so it's all muscle memory now. You get used to everything. The trajectory of your fists, the amount of energy it takes, the distance it goes."

"That sounds like so much work. Matt, I'm sweating buckets here!"

"Keep your knees bent," Matt laughed.

"They are bent!" Foggy lied.

"Then you'd be ready if I did this?" Matt swiveled around Foggy and caught the back of his knees with an outstretched leg, sending them both crumpling onto the floor. 

Foggy landed on his back with a heavy, "Oof,” and Matt trapped Foggy under his arm. He smirked impishly at the other boy.

Foggy groaned, thoroughly defeated. "Alright, you got me. My knees were not bent. I'm tapping out."

Matt laughed again, full heartedly, rolling off of Foggy and lying down beside him. They breathed for a few seconds and Matt felt comfortable in the cloud of their collective exertion, Foggy’s sweat cooling on Matt’s skin. It intoxicated him.

“Hey, I’m really sorry, but I think my dick might be hanging out of my shorts a little bit. Would it be weird if I readjusted in your presence?” Foggy asked out of nowhere, leaving Matt no time to process the question.

“Um,” Matt said intelligently as Foggy reached down and pulled himself back into his pants.

“Too late. Already done. Couldn’t let myself me indecent like that, could I?”

“How short  _ are  _ your shorts?” Matt asked out of sheer curiosity, as if he hadn’t been feeling just how short they were for past three hours.

“They’re really short, buddy. Like, end right at my hip short. Like, half my ass is practically out,” Foggy bemoaned, as if it were a terrible thing. Foggy hummed and guided Matt’s hand to Foggy’s outer seam, letting Matt’s fingers graze the junction between the fabric and Foggy’s soft hip. Foggy’s skin was flush and well moisturized. The hair on his leg stood up a little when Matt’s fingers inspected the hemline and Foggy gasped, just slightly. “About that short.”

“And you were out in public like that?” Matt asked, mouth dry. 

“Are we slut-shaming now?” teased Foggy. Lying down and sweaty, breathing heavy from recent exercise, it made Matt falter.

“No, no,” Matt fumbled. “Just, you’re comfortable like that? People might be looking, is all.”

Foggy laughed. “Oh, buddy. I don’t worry about that. If you could see me you’d know there’s nothing to look at. If anything, people are avoiding me in the street to not look at my ass spilling out of my shorts.”

Matt frowned at him. He knew that was false. He had noticed, as much as he didn’t want to, that people did look at him when they walked the streets together. Downtown, uptown, midtown. There were people who would look at Foggy and their hearts would ramp up. It was such a common occurrence that Matt had assumed that Foggy was either famous or that he was inordinately attractive. At the very least, over the two and a half weeks that Matt had known him, he had overheard no shortage of people who became enamoured enough in small talk with Foggy to be so bold as to request a date.

“You can’t have gone your entire life without ever being called attractive!” Matt exclaimed, a little insulted on Foggy’s behalf.

“I mean, no, but it’s usually little old ladies, Anna, or Marci. And Anna’s my  _ mom _ . And Marci’s just special.” Matt’s heart twisted at the sentiment, though he couldn’t quite parse out why.

“No one else? Are you sure?” Matt prodded.

“Well, sure, but I can’t trust what they say, much. I’m sure some of them were genuine, but I feel like some of them are just saying things so they can just get stuff from me, you know?” Foggy blushed warm heat, and his heart tripped irregularly at the subject matter. Nervous.

“Have people hurt you?” Matt asked darkly.

Foggy squirmed and sat up. “I can’t say no to that, but it’s not a big deal. A lot of people have had worse. Don’t worry about it. I’m just your average sorta chubby dude who’s had his share of dating troubles. Don’t worry about it,” Foggy said quickly. “Just a very normal dude with normal issues. But believe me, no one’s in it for my looks.”

“Foggy, you should tell someone if anyone’s giving you trouble. You can always tell me,” Matt persisted, still feeling Foggy’s unease.

“I tell Marci. I know I can trust her. And now I’ll tell you, too! Hey, look at me, expanding my social circle!” Foggy joked, heart still far too fast for genuine levity.

Matt shook his head and sat up. He tried to wrap his head around the fact that Foggy would have insecurities. “You’re, like, the nicest person I know. There’s no way you of all people would have problems talking to folk.”

“No, no. I’m an open book. And the people I talk to aren’t bad, either. There are just parts of my life that get complicated for people who want to get too close, you know? I don’t want them to get caught as collateral,” Foggy explained vaguely. “Anyways, let’s hit the showers. I smell like I died.” Foggy stood up slowly and heavily and Matt followed him to the locker room.

-

Foggy made him lunch. It was something protein-heavy and quick to make, but inexplicably delicious. Sandwiches and home-made condiments, a freshly tossed salad. Matt had made the same sort of thing a hundred times before, but there was magic in Foggy's handiwork that made it taste better.

“How is this so delicious? You put craisins in it!” Matt wondered through a mouthful of chicken.

“The tongue works in mysterious ways,” Foggy offered. “I spent a lot of undergrad trying weird food combinations because my roommate constantly went grocery shopping high. I’m either a culinary genius or a madman.”

“Well, from what I’ve experienced so far, everything has been pretty great,” Matt affirmed.

Foggy tutted with his apparently masterful tongue. “That’s because we’re new friends. I have much to show you, young padawan. Have you ever had veggie tempura with a dorito batter?”

“Is that a thing?” Matt asked, both bemused and horrified at the idea.

“It is now, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever tried. I’ll make it for you sometime.”

Matt's stomach churned in anticipation and bile rose to his throat. He couldn't wait. He smiled in anticipation, because that was definitely a promise Matt just heard.

Matt wanted to get used to Foggy. He wanted to get used to the feeling of all the possibility around them. He wanted to laugh at stupid things more. He wanted to learn and be taught. He wanted this freedom, a side of freedom even Elektra couldn't quite replicate for him. He wanted the normalcy.

Around Foggy, with his rolling waves of comfort, it was becoming increasingly easy to see a life without Stick. And Matt had gotten into Columbia as well. They could run into each other on campus and they could have genuinely nice small talk and Matt could have a friend.

It could be nice.

-

Matt visited Foggy at home sometimes. Foggy's apartment was a small bachelor studio that was miraculously without any leaks or faulty tiling. It was beautiful, with nice high windows, furnished with cheap IKEA racks and sofas and packed up boxes in lieu of chairs. It was bare bones, but comfortable enough for a temporary homestead.

Matt had gotten used to coming over to Foggy's without announcement. When he wasn't out working or meeting people, he was usually at home, typing away on his laptop or reading a book. This time, though, he had Marci over and the cheap bed frame was creaking.

Which was fine. Matt understood. They had known each other a long time and they were clearly affectionate. Marci sounded like she was attractive and intelligent and happy most of the time, if a little sharp and scary.

Still, something tugged at Matt's insides like possessiveness, which wasn't fair to Foggy.

Matt steeled himself against the cool night air and turned around to head back home. Grumbling to himself, he put on the sweater he had tied around his waist. His shirt was quite tight and a little thin.

-

Elektra sipped at her milkshake, nodding along to everything Matt said. Matt hadn't even touched his food.

"Your crush  _ is  _ inconvenient," Elektra observed. "I wouldn’t say you’ve lost quite yet, though. You could try being more explicit about your overtures?" She suggested, licking some whipped cream off of her straw.

"No, he's known her forever. I know who he'd choose, no question." Matt frowned sadly at his burger and fries.

"You don't know that. Maybe it's just a fling," Elektra tried to comfort.

"They've dated before, Elektra! They're clearly not just a one-time thing." He took an angry drink from his vanilla shake, but it didn't do anything to cool his situation.

"But that means they've broken up before, right? Just find out why! Maybe they're not as solid as you think."

Matt grumbled to himself and smacked his face onto the table between them, narrowly missing his greasy plate. He was being unfair. He should just back off. That would be the sensible thing to do. That would be what nice people do.

The thought plagued him, then he heard Foggy whistle as he rounded the corner. Some bags rustled with him as he carried his groceries back home. Foggy wouldn't be able to see Matt from this angle, even through the window, and Matt was facing the other way, but Matt recognized him easily now. It gave him some semblance of comfort to know that Foggy was just around, a semi-permanent fixture in his life even through proxy.

"Hey, don't look too quick, but I think I see Franklin Sharpe out there."

"Really? Where?" Matt asked, futilely trying to pick up a celebrity. He could only focus on Foggy and his familiar heartbeat.

"He's roughly at your 5:30, tallish and broad. Blonde, blue-eyed, very cute. He's got this nose that makes you think he's the type to write sonnets in his free time and kiss like he means it, but he's got these eyes and these lips that make you think he's really good at making a mess of your entire life."

Matt rolled his eyes. "You know those types of descriptions don't help me," Matt tells her. "I feel like you’ve been lying to me about your wall art. Are the posters in your room actually Sharpe posters? Does he sell posters of himself? I feel like he might."

"Actually, no. But he does have a headshot from last year when he was in his college production of Falsettos. He played Whizzer."

"How do you know these things? How intensely do you follow him?" Matt interrogated, shoving a soggy fry into his mouth.

"I can't help it! He's so mysterious! And everything I hear about him is so out of left field. Did you know he does poetry readings on occasion?"

"Foggy does poetry," Matt said quietly, smiling a little. He drank some more of his milkshake, and it was sweeter this time.

"God, you're sickening."

"Alright, you can make fun of me later. I still have to help you pack for Greece."

-

The next time he met up with Foggy was a couple of days later and Matt was fresh from the gym, on his way to a night shift at the local animal shelter. It was easy work, with most of the animals already settled in their pens, asleep. Night work was mostly making sure no one woke up in the middle of the night crying bloody murder.

Foggy stumbled towards him at the subway station, smelling like a party at 10pm.

"Matty! Matt! It's your buddy Foggy!" He shouted, far too loudly. He was making his way over from a group of friends.

Matt knew, logically, that Foggy had other friends. He was sociable and friendly and easy to hug. Matt hadn’t actively been living in an isolated fantasy where they were alone with each other, free from the influence of things like alcohol and drugs and peers, but now that he thought about it, maybe that’s exactly what he was doing.

Happily, Foggy led him towards the group. "Everyone this is Matt!" He said proudly. "In order from left to right, this is Phil, Grace, Zeta, Roshan, and Herb." Each of them, in turn, gave him a firm and friendly handshake. All of them were warm, like Foggy. Drunk. Foggy wrapped an arm around Matt and leaned in to whisper to him. "We're headed to a party, but we've been pre-gaming. You're welcome to come, if you want." He said it like a secret and his breath hit Matt's face in a lazy huff. Matt felt intoxicated just smelling it.

"Sounds fun," Matt smiled awkwardly. "But I have a shift at the animal shelter tonight."

"Aw man,” Foggy lamented. “That sounds way better. Will there be bunnies?" he asked sadly.

Matt’s smile softened. "Yeah, there's gonna be bunnies."

"Aw shoot, I love bunnies."

"You're welcome to come as long as you're quiet," Matt offered, half joking. The group seemed pretty set on the party.

Foggy gave out a little whine and considered it for a moment. "Guys, I hate to bail on tonight, but do you mind if I go look at bunnies with Matt?"

"Aw, but we'll miss you Fogs," Phil pouted, tracing a finger along Foggy's nose and dragging him in for a kiss. Matt shifted uncomfortably.

"You'll be fine without me for one night. We hung out all last weekend, too," Foggy laughed into Phil's face. Matt’s train was approaching fast.

"That's alright, Foggy. It's just work and it'll be really boring. You can go have fun with your buddies," Matt said generously, not shifting out of Foggy's arm.

"No, I wanna go see bunnies!" Foggy cheered. The subway dinged as it arrived on the platform and, impulsively, he dragged Matt inside. "Bye guys! Tell Jon I said ‘hi’!" Foggy waved behind him and then through the window as they started to move. His friends were already laughing amongst each other about what an absolute legend Foggy was. 

"What just happened?" Matt asked when they finally found some empty seats to settle into.

"I may be drunk, but I think you just enticed me into seeing bunnies instead of hanging out at the party I was supposed to go to," Foggy said dazedly.

"Sorry."

"I can go back, I know you just need to work," Foggy hesitated.

“No, it’s fine,” Matt said too quickly. “The night shift is usually pretty boring, anyway. Keep me company.” Matt tried to sound casual, but he didn’t know if it was working.

“Thanks, man. I do love bunnies.” Foggy sighed and Matt wanted to kiss him. You know, casually.

-

“Hey, Matt!” Gale greeted as he walked in. She set up the desk for him like usual. Neat and everything easily accessible, labelled in braille. “Everything’s set up. Let us know if you have any trouble. Rosie in the cat pen might patter around a bit because she has a stomachache, but everyone else should be good for the night.”

“Perfect! I can handle it from here,” Matt assured. He heard Foggy shuffle in the bushes and he smiled at Gale even harder, but probably less convincingly.

“Thanks for taking nights for us, I know it can really wreck your sleep schedule,” Gale sympathized, oblivious to the deafening rustle outside.

“Lucky I never sleep then, isn’t it?” Matt played up his charm. Gale shook her head at him, disapprovingly. She picked up her bag and headed out the door. Just before she opened the door, she turned to him and gave Matt a pat on the shoulder in a motherly way that made Matt’s heart twist.

“A growing boy like you ought to be taking care of yourself more,” she advised, and Matt felt every one of her decades. “I hope you’re going to be sleeping after this shift.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“There’s a casserole in the fridge in case you get hungry,” Gale noted.

“Your wife is a godsend.”

“She knows, let’s not inflate her ego any more,” Gale joked as she walked out the door. Matt mimed a zipper over his lips and put his hand in the air as a sacred oath. She chuckles softly at him and headed out the door. The jingling keys in her hand almost drowned out Foggy’s horrid attempt at staying silent.

Matt put his own bag and cane down behind the reception desk and held his breath until he heard Gale drive away. He hurried out the door as soon as they were in the clear.

“Foggy! She’s gone! You can come in, now!” he called into the bushes.

“Thank God,” Foggy breathed, crawling out of the foliage. He followed Matt inside and brushed away some twigs from his shirt. Matt cautiously locked up the door behind him and dashed to the lounge to plate up some casserole. He also put on some coffee because it was a nine hour shift and he would need it. Foggy trailed close behind. “Nice place,” he whistled, impressedly.

“It does the job. Smells like animal feces, like, all the time, though. No matter how much we clean it, it’s just feces all the time,” Matt says, leaning back on the counter.

“I was promised there’d be bunnies?” Foggy prompted. Matt blinked for a second before bursting out into a bright, unfettered laugh.

“You’re very focussed,” he observed. “You know you’re missing out on a party, right, bud?”

“There’s one every weekend,” Foggy dismissed. “I like hanging out with you.”

Matt beamed at him until the microwave beeped and Matt set the dishes out on the small table with some water. He tried to set it up neatly, like an actual table setting, but it was mostly lost on Foggy, who was intoxicated and picking up the metal cutlery as soon as it hit the wood.

“The carbs’ll help absorb all the gin you’ve been drinking,” Matt explained. “I don’t want you making a mess of the place and getting me fired.”

Foggy shifted guiltily. “Oh, right. Are you sure it’s okay that I snuck in here like this?” Foggy sat down at the table and let Matt pour them some water from the fridge.

“Yeah, this place doesn’t have any security cameras, and even if they did, there’s not much to steal other than, like, cat litter and animal toothbrushes. I’m sure me bringing a pal inside is the least of their worries.” Matt took a bite of chicken and pasta. Delectable, like every other time. Thank God for Leah and butter.

Foggy moaned into his fork and Matt almost dropped his. “This stuff is really good,” Foggy commented, unaware of Matt’s sudden choking. Foggy kept shovelling food into his mouth and Matt ate on in silence.

“The bunnies?” Foggy asked again when his plate was clean. Foggy hadn’t sobered up any, which was astonishing.

Matt sighed, equal parts exasperated and fond, and led him through to the other room, where many of the animals were snoring. Some of the cats were awake and walking around, but they moved around almost silently, even as some of them approached Foggy curiously and sniffed at him through the wire gate.

“They’re so cute!” Foggy squealed.

“I’ve been told,” Matt agreed as he opened the gate to where the rabbits were either sleeping or hopping around lazily. “Bunnies are this way.” Foggy perked up and trotted along.

Matt sat Foggy down in the pen and placed one of the furry friends on Foggy’s lap. In turn, Matt received a tight squeeze to his hand and a breathy “thank you,” which was plenty gratifying.

Matt settled down across from his companion and carefully picked up a passing rabbit to pet for himself.

They sat in silence for a while, and Matt lost himself in the tactile feeling of soft fur at his fingers, velvet ears, and a wet and curious nose. He listened to Foggy do the same, murmuring embarrassing things to his new friend in a voice Matt would loathe to recreate. Foggy was an endearing drunk.

“I don’t know what it is, but you look extra handsome, buddy,” Foggy marvelled. It took a second for Matt to realize Foggy was addressing him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, Matty. There’s something about an already handsome man playing with cute animals in the moonlight that really does wonders for your cheekbones,” Foggy complimented easily. Matt blushed and gaped for more words to say. “I can’t even call you hot or beautiful right now. You’re like the quintessential handsome, I’m a little amazed.”

Matt settled on a lame, “I, um. Thanks?” and continued to pet the rabbit, who was slowly falling asleep in his lap. “We should let these babies sleep, though. Animals need rest, too.”

“Fine, but feel free to bring me here anytime.” Foggy said, kissing the top of his bunny’s head before plopping the bunny back onto the ground. It was all very cute in the best way. Matt did the same and brushed his pants as he stood up. He waited for Foggy to follow, but instead, he guy flopped down to rest his belly on the dirty floor. He found a wayward bunny and buried his face in its fur.

“Foggy, what are you-”

“Matt, if I ever die, let the bunnies eat me.”

Matt smiled down at him as Foggy hugged two bunnies at once and reached out for a third. “I don’t think rabbits eat meat.”

“They do!” Foggy protested. “I saw it on Monty Python!”

Matt shook his head affectionately and helped Foggy to a standing position. “I stand corrected. I’ll make a note of it. We can get it notarized and everything.”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” Foggy giggled drunkenly, bringing Matt in for a hug. “You’re about as cute as the bunnies, so you get a kiss, too!”

“What?” Matt startled as a wet smack landed on his cheek. When it was over, Matt chuckled awkwardly, shifting them both toward the gate. “What happened to handsome?” he coughed, grasping for his sanity.

“Handsome left when you put the bunny down. Now you’re just cute again,” Foggy answered wisely. Matt patted off some of the dirt and hay off of Foggy with respectful hands and led them both back to the lounge.

“You’re a very affectionate drunk, aren’t you?” Matt asked when they were both seated back at the table. Foggy ate more casserole and drank some more water.

“Yeah. I think people are the bee’s knees. No use in hiding that, right? And I think people generally like receiving affection,” Foggy said. Finally, the slur was lifting from his voice, but he wasn’t making any more coherent sense. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can tone it down.” Matt remembered, involuntarily, Phil kissing him right on the lips. Matt wondered how one gets to that point in a friendship.

“No, you don’t have to. I guess I’m just not used to it.” Matt blushed into his cup.

“Okay, but you let me know. This one time, Phil and I exchanged blowjobs and apparently that isn’t normal bro-bonding behaviour. I’m serious, if I ever cross a line, just punch me in the face.”

Matt blushed even harder at that one. He had so many questions and his disciplined, Catholic sensibilities were pretty bruised at this point. At the same time, he never wanted to be the one to tone Foggy down.

“Do you date a lot?” Matt asked. He definitely didn’t know where this one was going.

“Not really,” Foggy admitted. “I mean, it depends on what you mean by ‘dating’ I guess, but no, I haven’t had a serious relationship since Marci. And we dated in high school.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and she’s my best friend now. It’s complicated,” Foggy went on.

“Why?”

“Well, her parents don’t like me for one. Too scrappy for their darling daughter, I guess. I think that really ramped up about the time I got my ears pierced. We stopped officially seeing each other after that, and then we privately broke up a while later, when other people started pursuing her in earnest.”

“But you love her?” Matt questioned, because that was a pretty important nugget of information to have if Matt’s feelings were going to keep being annoying.

“No question. She’s one of the best people I know!” Matt’s heart sank.

He tried an even more direct approach. “Would you date her if you could?”

Foggy hummed drunkenly. “Honestly, at this point in our lives, probably not. I think I might be a serious monogamist, but she’s been having her fun,” Foggy shrugged. His voice didn’t squeeze and his heart remained true. There wasn’t any pining going on here on Foggy’s part. What a relief. “I’ve been having my fun, too, I guess, but it’s hard to find someone who I can really trust to want me, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I guess I have a hard time thinking about whether people really like me or they’re just using me. See, my mom’s sort of... influential in her field, and she’s kinda rich. Like, if I invite them over and they come home, would they be disappointed that it’s not at my mom’s pool? Do they expect me to give them gifts? I’ve been lucky enough that she pays for my tuition, and I’m really grateful, but I’m also independent, and  _ I’m  _ not rich, you know? I’m not my mom’s money and I’ve only ever lived with her for, like, three weeks out of the year since I was four. I don’t know how to be rich. I don’t know to be classy. That’s not where my interests lie, you know? As far as I’m concerned, Anna’s the only mother I have.”

Matt nodded, not quite understanding, but getting that it must be hard.

“Hey, I like you,” Matt comforted. “And I’ve never even met your mom. I’m sure there are other people who genuinely like you. You’re not exactly hard to like.”

“You think?” Foggy sounded so hopeful just then.

“Definitely.”

-

“You can take a nap on the sofa if you want,” Matt suggested after Foggy broke out in the fifth yawn that minute.

“No, no,” Foggy said, rubbing his eyes. “You must be tired, too. I have to stay up in solidarity.”

“I haven’t been drunk tonight, Foggy. Just take the nap,” Matt smiled at him, guiding him to the sofa.

“Then you’re sleeping too.”

“No, I have to work,” Matt reminded him. Foggy yawned again.

“Wake me up, then,” Foggy pouted.

Matt laughed. “How do you reckon I do that?”

Foggy pulled him down for a kiss.

Immediately, Matt pulled away.

“We can’t,” he said.

“Why not?” Foggy whined, chasing his lips.

“Because you still reek of alcohol for one,” Matt protested.

“I’m not even that drunk right now, though. Promise. I’ve done worse way drunker,” Foggy argued. “One time I blacked out and when I woke up, there was a guy on top of me-”

“What you’re describing isn’t legal!” Matt cried, horrified. 

“Wait ‘til you find out how my nanny used to discipline me,” Foggy laughed, though his breath hitched with something else and Matt tasted salt in the air. “Ah, shit, I think I’m crying but I don’t know why.”

“I think I have an idea,” Matt said delicately as he patted Foggy’s cheek and sat down on the floor facing him.

“You know, it’s kinda funny, now that you mention it, but I don’t think I’ve kissed anyone sober ‘cept Marci.”

“Then kiss me later, alright? When you wake up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

-

Foggy slept through much of the shift. Matt performed his duties, cleaning out the litter boxes, sweeping the floors, mopping up dog vomit, writing his nightly report and emailing Gale. It was easy work, despite the smells. Matt was efficient, and it got done early. With the extra time, Matt listened to Foggy sleep. His snoring was an even blow horn.

By 4:30 in the morning, his duties were thoroughly done for the night and Matt was bored. So, he crawled into the rabbit enclosure and woke up covered in them.

“Handsome fucker,” Foggy said as Matt shook himself awake.

“Morning,” Matt greeted with a smile. He stretched the crick out of his back. “What time is it?”

“6:45. I haven’t been up this early in forever.”

“You could have slept some more. I don’t think Karen starts until 8,” Matt informed him, trying to find some purchase in a sea of rabbits so that he could stand up without stepping on anyone.

Foggy laughed brightly and sat down beside him, instead. “No, I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“No?”

“I was too busy thinking about you,” Foggy said, shying a hand onto Matt’s. “Can I kiss you now?”

Matt gulped. “Yeah.”

And they did.

That was how Karen found them an hour later, rolling around in the bunny pen, hair mussed, and clothes rumpled and dirty. There were rabbits all over them.

“Matt, are you bringing dates to work, now?” Karen called, leaning on the wire gate.

“Hey, Karen,” he responded dreamily from under Foggy. “This is Foggy. He’s pretty great.”

“Hey,” Foggy greeted cheerily, as if his heart wasn’t beating a jazz solo on Matt’s chest.

Karen’s heart beat a little faster, too, something like excitement. “Nice to meet you, Foggy,” she said pleasantly. “So have you finished all your duties besides traumatizing the bunnies?”

“Yeah, they got done. They’re all yours, now.” Matt stood and pulled Foggy up with him. “Please don’t tell Gale.” Matt’s grin split straight to his ears.

“There goes our Sunday gossip,” Karen teased as the boys walked out.

-

Despite the auspicious and early start to their morning, neither of them had very restful nights. After taking turns in the shower, they fell into a deep sleep in Matt’s bed.

Matt awoke for the second time that day at six in the evening. Stick was stealing beers from his fridge.

“I know you’re awake, asshole,” Stick muttered.

Matt panicked on some sweatpants and rushed out of his bedroom. “Stick,” he greeted in a monotone.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he spat at him. “First I hear about some pussy shit competition and now I catch you in bed with this dough boy?”

Matt steeled himself. There were no words to say to Stick about anything, ever. He beat down and there was no point in logic in the face of the unrelenting waves of violent fists. Stick wasn’t much of a listener.

“You forgotten that there’s a bigger cause we’re working for, boy?” Stick slammed the bottle on his table, sending glass flying everywhere. Matt flinched.

“I haven’t. But I’m quitting. I don’t want any part of it anymore.”

Stick approached him slowly. He circled Matt around the room, a vulture, a shark. He threw the broken bottle at Matt’s face and Matt only barely ducked out of the way. It landed with a crash on the other side of the room and Stick came at him with his cane.

“Useless fuck. What am I gonna do with you now, huh?”

Matt played defense. He had never been able to beat Stick and he wouldn’t start now. He would have to let Stick blow off his steam and leave. Matt knew Stick wouldn’t kill him.

“Took you in under my wing. Taught you everything you goddamn know. The fucking audacity, you ungrateful little shit.” Stick had him pinned on the ground, expertly choking him with sure fingers. He wouldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t.

Stick whipped around and blocked Foggy, who was swinging around a baseball bat.

“Are you kidding me, lardass? You think you can take me?” Stick shucked the bat away and it jangled uselessly on the hardwood. He charged at Foggy and landed a punch square on his nose. Foggy crumpled with a pained groan. It gave Matt enough time to grab for Stick’s discarded cane and hit the attacker in the back of the head.

For a second, Stick stilled. Only for a second.

“Fine. You’re going to throw away decades of work like that, go right ahead. You’re not my problem anymore, Matty.” Stick left through the window and his cane clattered to the ground from Matt’s hand.

It was a while before Matt could register anything again. He didn’t know how long.

“-eathe with me, Matt,” he heard. “Deep breaths, there we go,” Foggy encouraged.

“Foggy. Oh, my God, Foggy. I’m so sorry,” Matt said, reaching over to assess the damage. Foggy’s face was wet, though he couldn’t tell if it was tears or blood.

“You have no reason to apologize, Matt. We both made it out in one piece. I’m fine. Are you okay?”

Matt nodded, clutching at his own neck. Foggy caught his hands.

“It’s bruised. We shouldn’t make it any worse. Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“No,” Matt rasped. “No hospitals.”

“Okay,” Foggy nodded frantically. “Who was that?”

“My coach. Call Elektra.”

-

Elektra made her way to Matt’s apartment like lightning. She pushed past Foggy and landed at Matt’s side on the couch.

“So did it finally happen? Are you done with him?” Elektra asked him quietly.

“I think so,” Matt confirmed, hollow and hurt.

“How do you feel?”

“Empty. I just. Can you help me explain everything to Foggy? I’m not so good at words. Less so now.”

“Foggy?” Finally, Elektra took in her surroundings. Her eyes landed on Foggy and she gasped. “Why is Franklin Sharpe shirtless in your home, Matthew?”

“What? This is Foggy Nelson, my friend. You know, Foggy. The one I told you about?”

“Okay,” Foggy said, cautiously reproachful. “Technically, you knew Foggy was my nickname and you just assumed my last name. My biological mother actually gave me her last name as part of the divorce settlement, so I’m legally-”

“Franklin Sharpe,” Matt concluded. “Oh my God, this entire time?”

“Since before that, actually. Technically, always,” Foggy shrugged.

“Son of the most influential woman on this side of the hemisphere?” Matt asked.

“Just about, yeah. I’m sorry. It’s just that I have a distinctive face and name, and Rosalind hires paparazzi literally just to shame me and it was refreshing to have someone’s first impression not be from my  _ mother _ . Everyone’s first impression of me is the colossal fuck-up who doesn’t even know to how to be rich properly. I was going to tell you,” Foggy tried to explain.

“When?”

“Before the ball. Maybe even before that. I just, I liked that you didn’t know. That you weren’t like a groupie trying to roofie me or someone looking for clout.”

“You were using my blindness for your personal advantage?” Matt filled in the blanks.

“Well, my friends really do call me Foggy. And my dad is a Nelson. I never lied. I just took advantage of a misunderstanding. I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me. That was really shitty of me.”

“It’s okay. I have some things to tell you as well.”

-

“Superpowers? Are you serious? Like actual real life superpowers?” Foggy asked with more than mild curiosity.

“I mean, they’re just enhanced senses. I can tell a lot of things about positionality and space, but it’s not like flight or a healing factor or anything,” Matt tried to brag covertly. “I still don’t get why people are so into jewel tones nowadays.”

“But how does it work? Like, if I were to throw something at you, you’d be able to catch it?” Foggy, unsubtly, lobbed a pillow at Matt, who caught it easily.

“How are you so cool?”

Matt smiled.

“I’m also a trained combatant, by the way.” Elektra piped in. “And I look great in a dress.”

“So do I!” Matt laughed. “And  _ she’s  _ a groupie!”

Foggy chuckled nervously between the two of them. “What’s happening?”

“I’m not a groupie, I’m an admirer,” Elektra amended. 

“She thinks you’re a subversive image of white male privilege and appreciates how you ally yourself with the lower class through your aesthetic choices and associates. She also thinks you’re really sexy.”

Elektra nodded enthusiastically.

“Huh. A lot of people think it’s just me being a voyeuristic privileged brat.”

“Are you?” Elektra asked.

“I like to think not. I mean, I do have a free ride to law school, which is insane, but my upbringing was mostly in the Kitchen. I’ve been working since I was 14. I don’t deny the privileges given to me, but I haven’t grown up with the affectations of the sort of upbringing people associate me with,” Foggy rambled, a little defensive.

“Foggy, I would very much like to be your friend,” Elektra stated plainly.

“Can do. Can you tell me more about this Stick guy, though? He’s a bit intense.”

“Abusive is more like it,” Elektra scoffed. “He took us in when we were nine and he trained us as if we were human weapons. I didn’t even know anything was wrong until I came home with a black eye and my father just let me cry and told me it was okay.”

“Sounds like a dick. I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Foggy sympathized. “Both of you.”

“I’m sorry you had to meet him,” Elektra responded.

“But we’re free, now,” Matt realized. “We’re both free. Holy shit, we’re free!” Matt stood up and threw himself onto Foggy to kiss him.

-

“Matthew  _ Murdock  _ ?” Foggy questioned when the Brawl was over. He had Marci on his arm and they were walking towards him. Matt had a shiny new trophy in his arms and a trophy of a shiner on his face. He beamed at Foggy as the press kept taking their pictures.

“Yeah, that is my last name,” Matt confirmed, bringing Foggy in for a deep and triumphant kiss. A million cameras went off.

“You dick! Battlin’ Jack was my childhood hero!” Foggy accused as they broke off.

“Mine too," Matt said, a little shocked. Every time he stopped realize how entwined their childhoods were, Matt felt waves and waves of regret that he hadn't met Foggy sooner.

“I have all his matches recorded. You should come over and watch them sometime.”

Matt breathed heavily, overwhelmed at the moment. "Alright, but let me buy you lunch. I just won me a whole grand," Matt said, holding his cheque tightly in his sweaty palm and pressing forward for another kiss. Winning felt  _ fantastic _ .

"Oh, I brought Marci, by the way! She's excited to meet you. "

She looked him up and down appraisingly for a long second. "This one's cute, Foggy. Good job," she whispered into Foggy’s ear.

"Yeah, I sure do know how to pick 'em," Foggy responded, breathy and quiet. Matt probably wasn't supposed to hear it, but it made him smile anyway.

"Marci Stahl," she greeted like soft ice. "Nice to finally meet you."

Marci was nice. She was also nothing like how Matt had imagined she would be.

They ate cheap tacos together at Matt's house while Foggy cleaned up his injuries. They lounged on Matt's couch all in a line, Foggy in the middle and his companions leaning on him. Marci's laugh was cold, such the opposite of Foggy's, but alluring and sharp and affectionate just the same. She wasn't afraid to tear down, nor was she afraid to show love. She was chaotic and loud and unrepentant and Matt admired her for it.

"My mom bought me this awful prom dress for my senior prom, and she was already doing me such a solid for letting me take Foggy as my date because he was a junior from another school. But the dress, it was so conservative, with all these pink frills everywhere. Sleeves that hadn't been in fashion since last century," she was saying, her head in Foggy's lap. "I wore it anyways. I couldn't be ungrateful, you know?"

"But we didn't go to prom, we had sex in her parents' bedroom," Foggy finished for her. "This is her wingmanning, by the way. She doesn't get how awkward it is that she's talking about screwing me with the guy I'm seeing. She's trying to get you to think about how long I can last."

"Is it working?" Marci asked brightly.

"A little," Matt admitted, closing his eyes and pressing a kiss to Foggy's shoulder. He rested his head there. "Mostly, though, I'm thinking about you guys fucking on your parent's bed."

"Well, shoot," Marci said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

"We're not having a threesome," Foggy said sternly. Then, he turned to Matt. "Do you want a threesome?"

"No," he said, resolute. "I'm not doing anything you're not absolutely comfortable with."

"Alright. Thanks, man." Foggy always sounded surprised when Matt affirmed his boundaries, which shouldn’t be surprising at all.

"Why do you hate your parents so much, anyway?" Matt asked Marci.

She hummed and said nothing for a long moment. So long that Matt opened his mouth to change the subject. "They've just always cared about posterity more than anything. I thought it was all normal until I was, like, 14 and this guy was following me on the subway. I tried to tell them about it, but they just ragged on me for how short my skirt was.

"I guess eventually I just realized that they don't really care about what happens to me, you know? As long as they can live another day out of the tabloids and roofie themselves asleep at night. I know it's a bit of a cliché, but I guess I was always prone to act out. After, like the fifth time it happened, I went off on a bit of a bender and I met Foggy. He helped me out of it."

"We helped each other. I wasn't in the best place, either. Listen, we're having a really good moment here, but I gotta take a piss," Foggy said apologetically as he squeezed past the other two. "Sorry."

"You're good for him, Matthew," Marci told him when the lock clicked. She sat up. "If you hurt him, I will kill you, though."

"You really love each other, huh?" Matt ventured.

"We do," she answered stiffly.

"Why'd you break up?" He knew he was pressing too far, but suddenly, he wanted to know and Matt was fully willing to fight if it was for Foggy.

"We didn't. He dumped me," Marci said without any trace of a lie.

"Hey! I'm back," Foggy said as he re-wedged himself between the two again. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing important," Marci said casually, swinging her legs onto Foggy's lap. Casual.

"Foggy, I think the chicken might be burning," Matt said. It wasn't a lie, though. His oven was full of burning things and they itched at his nose. Maybe it wasn't the chicken, but something was probably burning.

"Alright, let me go check," Foggy said, oblivious to the tension in the room. Gently, he lifted Marci's legs off of him and headed into the kitchen.

Matt turned to Marci. "Did  _ you  _ hurt him?" He asked darkly.

"Yeah,” she admitted easily. Clearly they had worked on it. “But we still love each other. And I've known him a decade, buster, so don't go around thinking you can replace me."

"Are you going to steal him from me? Is that what this is?" Matt asked, frantic and head spinning.

Marci laughed her cold, affectionate laugh again. "No, that ship sailed a long time ago. I hurt him, and he's more comfortable being a friend. But he's the best one I ever had, so you can date him, but don't even think about being his best friend, alright?"

Matt tried to make sense of this. He listened to Foggy in the kitchen, checking on the roast in the oven and the unfrosted cake in the fridge. Obliviously, he started making some buttercream.

She sighed. "Look, when I was young and dumb, I said some things to him. He got it in his head that I was using him to get to my parents and he dumped me. We've since healed, but we’ve agreed to go our separate ways. If he ever gives me another shot, though, I'm not going to be considerate towards you."

Matt gulped. She wasn't lying.

"Just make him happy and you won't have to worry about me," she told him cheerily. Matt shivered.

"Alright. I'll take care of him. I'll make him happy," he promised.

"There's a good lad. You know, I can respect you, Murdock."

And that was their peace treaty.

-

A few days later, they had gone through Battlin' Jack Murdock's entire boxing career. They had plates of now-gone sandwiches and the bones off of buffalo wings strewn about as they watched the video lazily on Foggy’s TV.

"And he's goin' for the finisher!" The announcer buzzed. Matt had heard it a million times before. Matt closed his eyes to the familiar scene in his head.

"He looks good out there. Tired, but determined. He looks strong," Foggy filled in. This, he hadn't heard before. This was a courtesy from a very, very kind boy.

"Creel's down like nothin' and he's strugglin' to get back up!" The announcer went on.

"He's tappin' out, folks!" Matt narrated for himself in time with the commentator. "Battlin' Jack's back everybody! And what a comeback!" And the crowd cheered for Jack while the victory music played.

"And he's saying something here. He's crying and saying 'this one's for you, Matty. I love you, son'," Foggy said. Matt had definitely not heard this part before.

"What, really?" Matt asked Foggy. He wasn’t lying.

"Yeah, I spent ages trying to read his lips, but I think that's it. Legend has it he died shortly after, so it became kinda mythic. I know it's kinda sick because it's your dad, but when I was a kid, I thought there was a code in what he was saying."

"I didn't know. Those were his last words to me," Matt said softly. "He wanted me to hear them but the goddamn music was playing."

Foggy pulled him in for a hug, cradling Matt's body in his lap. "He loved you a hell of a lot, huh?"

"I think so. I'm sorry he died but I don't regret that he was my dad."

"Must've been hard losing him so young and all."

"It was," Matt admitted for the first time, ever. "I loved him a lot, too."

"I bet." Foggy let him cry for a long while, and afterwards, they ate some ice cream.

-

Elektra called Matt at 8 in the morning, only four hours after he’d gotten to sleep. "You're in the tabloids, Matthew!" she exclaimed excitedly over the phone. "It's a brilliant shot of you and Franklin at that MMA thing a while back. A very interesting read, if a little inaccurate."

Foggy cursed from beside him and shuffled further into the sheets.

"' _ The alleged buddies have been seen all over town these past few weeks. Could they be in a relationship? _ ' Ugh," Foggy read aloud. "We're making out all over this page. You'd think they'd get the hint. ' _ Franklin Sharpe, heir to the Sharpe Empire, cuddles up to Matthew Murdock, an amateur boxer _ '," he continued, then groaned. "Okay I'm not reading any more of this. They just implied you're my sugar baby." He threw the newspaper down onto the coffee shop table and huffed. He was genuinely upset at this.

"Offensive. If anything, you're my sugar baby," Matt frowned seriously, just to make Foggy laugh. It didn’t quite work, so he pushed harder. "They don't even know what you can do with your mouth," he leered.

"We're in  _ public _ ," Foggy whined, covering Matt's face with his palm. Matt kissed it and Foggy let out another huff. Affectionate this time. "You're gross."

"Foggy, will you be my sugar baby?"

"Matt, no," he said sternly, as if to train an excitable dog. Matt ignored him.

"Hey, sir," Matt said as he greeted the guy in the next booth. "This is Foggy, my hot, young sugar baby. Last night he was doing this thing with his tongue-"

"Matt, no!” Foggy cried. “Now you're just bothering people!" Foggy kicked him from under the table. "Stop being gross in public. We're leaving." Foggy pulled him up by the collar and led him outside.

"Do you feel any better now?" Matt asked, after having walked a whole block in silence.

"I'm mortified."

"But better than when you were reading the paper?"

"You were being obnoxious."

"Is that a yes?"

Foggy sighed. "Yeah. Being embarrassed is mildly better than reading about how I'm some creep who takes in the underprivileged as a jerk off fantasy. You're hardly some boy toy or whatever they were calling it. And we're the same age! God, even I hate this Franklin Sharpe guy."

"He sounds sleazy," Matt agreed.

"He does!"

"I'm glad I have you, though, Foggy," Matt confessed, lacing their fingers together.

"And I, you, Matty. And I, you.”

-

Matt received a very professional email a few days later, warning him off of Foggy. Signed, Rosalind Sharpe. An informal cease and desist of sorts. Foggy laughed at it.

"Of course she would hate this!" Foggy said happily.

"What do you mean? I'm a respectable man." Foggy kissed his pout.

"That's not what I meant. If I know my mother, she's not too thrilled about me seeing someone who picks fights. Or, you know, a man. She’s one of those ‘not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just wouldn’t want that for my children because of all the hardships’ kind of homophobe. She wants me to date wealthy and sensible women only. The type to wear summer dresses and make sweet tea for her church friends. She thinks I dabble with the wrong sort."

"I can wear summer dresses and make tea for the church. They love me at church."

"That's another thing. She'd flip if she knew you were Catholic. She hates that my dad married a Jewish woman, too. She claims not to be an antisemite, but she’s also very WASPy,” Foggy sighed. “She's all sorts of nasty, but I don't need her approval. I love you." Foggy kissed his cheek and froze. “I mean, uh, casually love, of course. Like, I’m very chill about everything. Cool as a cucumber, nothing happening way too fast over here.” Foggy slinked off to the kitchen and scrubbed at some potatoes to keep busy. Matt was elated. He was  _ loved  _ .

Matt laughed at Foggy’s silence. “I casually love you too. Maybe a little more than casually. No, I fully love you, so if it’s a competition, I win.”

Foggy stopped what he was doing and came out of the kitchen, ready for a stern word or two. He was a competitive sort of man.

-

New York occasionally had perfect days. No one was fighting in the alleys. The streets were full of happy dogs. The homeless busker, Thomas, was receiving bills on top of change and his violin was perfectly in tune. Matt walked into Nelson’s Meat on such a day to drop off a gift for Foggy. The sun was high and Matt had slept well. He had a neatly wrapped box tucked under one arm and the weight of it bounced softly in tandem with his cane as he walked. He whistled a tune to it.

“Hello!” he called in, after the chime. Foggy was in the actual butchery, working on… beef? Yeah, it smelled like beef. Foggy’s dad was wiping up the till area.

Foggy’s dad, who Matt had yet to meet. Who Matt had maybe been avoiding meeting.

“You must be Matt,” he said gruffly, but not unkindly just following the chime. He stuck his hand out for a shake. “I’m Edward, but you can call me ‘sir.’ I’m holding my hand out. Come shake it, son.” Matt obeyed, nearly dropping his cane to shake the hand as firmly as he could. “Quite a grip you have there,” the man commented approvingly.

“It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” Matt said, not knowing how to make a good impression. This had never happened before. Matt’s hands were clammy. He was parched.

Foggy’s father took him in for a second, looking him up and down with his arms crossed. “Pick your nose up from the ground, kiddo, I ain’t gonna bite ya. Frankie, your boy’s at the till. Come fetch him, he looks a little lost.”

Matt cringed at himself. He didn’t think he was doing a very good job at this good impression thing.

Foggy floated on over, taking off his metal gloves and whistling as if nothing was amiss. Then, he stopped to laugh when he saw Matt’s face.

“What did you do, pa? He looks like he’s shitting his pants!” Matt blushed even deeper.

“He just came that way!” Foggy’s dad defended, humour rising to his cheeks. “You sure this one’s a fighter? He looks pretty harmless to me.”

“I’m a boxer, sir. I’m not violent out of the ring,” Matt said meekly.

“‘Sir’?! Christ, pops. You really did a number on him. You can call him ‘Ed’, Matty. He likes to tease but he never responds to ‘sir’.” Foggy stepped in and settled beside his father. They were of a similar build and height, but Foggy was lighter on his feet. Impish, mischievous. Matt already distrusted what was about to happen.

“Let me scare your guy a little,” Ed complained. “Marci never bit the bait and Candace’s boy ain’t afraid of me no more. Your old man’s gotta be burly, sometimes.”

“Look at the guy, pa! I wanna give him a blanket. He don’t deserve it. Look at his cheeks! He’s just a boy!” Foggy reached over the counter to pinch Matt’s cheeks and make a point. Matt tried to turn away.

“I’m only five months younger than you!” he pouted. “I’m a man!” he sputtered, trying to bat Foggy’s hands away. His traitorous voice cracked and it didn’t help his case.

Ed laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m just yankin’ your chain, son. I’ve heard about you. You seem like a good kid. Take care of my boy.”

Foggy walked his way out, leaving his apron on the counter. Matt sat down at a two-seater, setting down his box on the table. He relaxed into his seat when Ed went to finish the butchering job.

“So you’re a daddy’s boy?” Matt observed.

“Do you want me to be, daddy?” Foggy purred, slipping a foot between Matt’s under the table. By the way Ed looked their way, he definitely heard.

“Your father is right there,” Matt warned tightly. “He could kill me.”

“He wouldn’t do that. He knows I’m just foolin’. I’m as pure as they come, right Matty?” he said with increasing volume. Ed chuckled and shook his head. “But actually, no. I’m a mama’s boy. And my mama is Anna.”

“Can’t wait to meet her.”

“She’s already knitting you a sweater, so you’d better be excited,” Foggy ordered. Ed was turned the other way, and Foggy crossed his ankles, trapping Matt’s leg between them. It was casual. Cool. Perfect. Matt reached over to hold Foggy’s hand and smiled.

“What’s in the box?” Foggy asked finally.

Excitedly, he slid it over to Foggy, who opened it with care, folding the paper and setting it to the side. Extravagantly, he lifted the lid and took a second.

“What is it?”

“Are you buying my boy lewd things out there?” Ed called from the back room. Wow, their walls were thin. Matt cringed as he thought back to all the conversations he’d had with Foggy while Theo hid just in the lounge.

“They’re waistcoats. Matching waistcoats. I figured we can wear them to the masquerade together,” Matt explained. “It’s not much, and they’re just black, but I think it’d be nice. Y’know, that we match, even if other people don’t see it much or anything.”

“Are you asking me to the ball?” Foggy smiled.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Do it on one knee,” Foggy joked. Matt obliged anyway.

“Foggy Last Name Redacted, will you do me the honor of being my date to your own goddamn ball?”

“Of course Mr. Murdock! Why, I’d be delighted!” he answered demurely. He took Matt’s hand and kissed it. “Dork.”

“Huzzah!” Ed cheered from behind the door.

-

The day of the Sharpe Ball came quickly. It was a gorgeous day and Matt had a date. He had dipped into his savings for a decent formal suit, thrifted but tailored. Elektra had wailed at him for purchasing a gaudy red number, despite the formal coattails. Matt argued that it was a masquerade and they were allowed to look a bit eccentric. For his mask, also thrifted, Matt had found a Batman helmet that had no eye sockets. A manufacturing error that meant the mask was only a good green dollar despite the hefty material.

Elektra, on the other hand, probably looked gorgeous as always. Her dress was floor length and form fitting. It had a slit that was higher than strictly necessary and metal chains delicately draped on the back. Her perfume was faint and lovely. She was a full sensory meal. She was music as she walked. A silky dress on her graceful form. A cloud of pleasant floral aroma.

Her mask left nothing to the imagination, either. Matt had felt it when she bought it. A roll of intricate lace ribbon to be tied behind her long, slick hair. A sexy evening accessory, well planned amidst the other textures of the dress.

"How do I look?" Matt asked, bouncing on his feet.

"Like a weird, red Batman," Elektra told him. "Foggy's going to love it."

Matt grinned stupidly, relaxing on the sofa as Elektra finished her make up. Matt let himself melt into the sounds of the city outside. The cooing pigeons. The scampering squirrels. The lazy tread of dogs on their daily walk. An old couple, swaying slowly in the park to a busker on a violin. Thomas was an  _ artist _ .

Stick was making his way up the stairs, grumbling to himself.

Shit.

"Stick's here. We have to leave," Matt said.

"What?" Elektra gasped. "He's here? Now? Are you kidding me?"

"No, he's on the stairs. He have maybe thirty seconds, a minute to go. We don't have enough time." Matt was already on his feet, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything. Wallet, keys, phone.

"Alright, let's go." Elektra said, capping her lipstick and grabbing her purse.

"Too late," Stick said at the doorway, kicking the lock loose. "Knock knock, assholes."

"We both quit," Elektra cried, looking around for anything to be used as a weapon.

"Well, tonight's the night you redeem yourselves because the Hand is waking up, and they’re gonna take whatever will give them the most power in the city. Let me ask you again; you wanna do something useful with your lives or not?"

Matt lunged and Stick blocked him easily, poking incessantly on his forehead with his cane, disorienting him. "Wise up, you idiot. What have you been training for the last decade? You gonna throw that away for your pansy ass boyfriend?" Stick whipped him in the neck with the side of his palm and Matt crumpled.

"I'm throwing it away for  _ me  _ , you dick!" Matt grabbed at Stick's cane and yanked on it, hard. Stick let it go. It wasn’t worth losing his stance. Matt used it like a staff, trying to catch Stick with a hit or two. Unfortunately, the old man was still nimble and alert. Almost inhuman with the way he moved with the decades of martial arts mastery behind him.

They sparred, Matt breathing hard against Stick's nonchalant and violent grace. 

Elektra plunged a kitchen knife into his back. It got about two inches in before Stick whipped around to knock Elektra down. She dodged his measured arms and tackled him, in classic wrestling fashion. The knife clattered to the floor and Matt made a grab for it.

"Do it! Kill him, Matthew!" Elektra said, struggling to keep Stick down. Stick laughed an icy laugh and spat at the pair of them.

"Him? You think that little bitch is gonna be able to stab me? He wouldn't hurt a fly," Stick jeered.

Matt's hands shook with rage. He twirled the knife in his hands, already reeking of Stick's blood like it belonged there. He tasted the opportunity on his tongue, the chance to kill the man who had beaten him down since he was a child and saw it as progress, making Matt think like that, too. The man who beat up Elektra, his best friend. Who molded them into beasts at a young age. Who assaulted them relentlessly. Who attacked Foggy.

And still, he couldn't do it. He sighed and walked over to put the knife in his sink. It clamoured uselessly.

"Fuckin' knew it," Stick spat, easily shoving Elektra off of him. "You disgust me, the lot of you. Find me if you ever stop being such disappointments." Stick left like he entered, striking fear into the pair of them.

Matt took off his coat to wrap Elektra in it.

"Hey, we're okay. He's gone," Matt comforted, hugging her shaking frame.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Elektra asked. "You had the chance. He was right in front of you."

"You know why." Matt said, quietly into her hair.

"Yeah. That's why I like you." She hugged him for another second, then stood up abruptly. "Come on. Let's get you fixed up. Can't well go meet your prince charming looking like you've been brawling,” she joked to lighten the mood and stuck out her hand.

Matt took it gladly.

-

"You look cheesy," Elektra informed Matt. There had been some costume changes. Matt switched out his ruined white cotton for a silk red shirt (also thrifted and, according to Elektra, also horrid.) Elektra wore his suit jacket to hide the wet splotch of Stick's blood as it dried. They matched now, in silks and red.

"Matthew Murdock," he greeted the doorman, lifting his rubbery mask and trying very hard to approximate where the man’s eyes were. He gestured towards Elektra. "And his plus one."

The man looked at him up and down, and searched for the name on his list.

"Ah, yes, welcome, Mr. Murdock," he said, as if the doorman recognized him. "We hope you enjoy the festivities. Congratulations on your admittance."

"Thank you, sir," Matt said politely as he walked in, Elektra at his arm.

"Thomas Doughty," the guy after him was already saying, eager to get in. "Friend of Franklin's."

"Of course," the doorman said with markedly less enthusiasm. "Go on, then."

The man staggered in, a pair of dressed up bro-types on either side of him as they headed to the open bar.

"So you're going to Columbia next semester?" Elektra asked him, leading him to a pedestal table by the food.

"Yeah. I'm done with Stick, and if Foggy's going to be there, I figure it won't be the worst thing to be back at school," Matt shrugged casually, as if it wasn't a big deal. In actuality, he had agonized over it. The student fees alone would be colossal.

"Does he know yet?" Elektra nibbled delicately at an hors d'oeuvre. Matt shook his head.

"I figured I'd tell him tonight. You know, lead him to the balcony at some point and tell him I want to be joined at the hip for the next little while. Try not to make it look like stalking."

“He’ll be delighted, Matthew. I’m glad one of us got to sleep with him.”

Matt choked. “He’s not opposed to group stuff?” Matt offered politely.

“But you’re too possessive for that,” Elektra finished. “This is torture. I’ve been following him since I was sixteen, you know.”

“I know. Is he anything like you thought he’d be?”

She sighed. “No, he’s infinitely sweeter. You’re far more suited to him, anyway. Actually, what about that Karen girl at the shelter? She’s rather sweet as well. Don’t you reckon they’d make a good match?”

“No,” Matt said bitterly. They’d cause cavities together.

The pair made some small talk and the orchestra started. It was surreal, the amount of money that was thrown into this extravagant party that Foggy didn’t even want. Eventually, Matt and Elektra moved to the dance floor and did swayed lazily around each other. The people weren’t the most interesting, especially since Matt didn’t know any of them and the pair had just had a near death experience.

“Mind if I have the next dance?” Foggy asked from behind him. Marci was beside him, arms crossed as if Matt had already disappointed her.

“Please,” Matt smiled. Immediately, he shoved Elektra aside to catch Foggy’s hands in his own. She yelped in protest and kicked his shin before taking Marci’s hand and leading her in a technically perfect tango.

“Christ, you’re pretty,” Marci marvelled, as she was dipped in Elektra’s arms. Matt smiled at them.

“How’d you find me?” Matt asked coquettishly, turning his head towards the other man.

“You guys are like traffic cones with all this red,” Foggy said, fond as ever. “Also, no one else would be wearing a shitty Batman mask to a place like this.”

“I got it for a whole dollar!” Matt said proudly, letting his palms slip under Foggy’s jacket to feel his waistcoat. They matched.

“Congratulations, buddy. I’m real happy for you. Everyone’s asking how you see out of that thing.”

“Sight is just really overrated,” Matt dismissed with a smirk. “What’s yours supposed to be?”

Foggy snickered. “You’ll get a kick out of this.” He guided Matt’s hands up to his face and beyond. The mask was… tall.

“Are those bunny ears?” he asked in awe.

“Our first date,” Foggy said, leaning down to kiss Matt. “I made it myself out of papier-mâché. I’m pretty sure we have the two shittiest masks at the entire party.”

“What an accomplishment.” Matt’s face was starting to hurt from all the smiling. He twirled Foggy and let them land chest to chest. Then, he heard it. A rustle from all around the building. Something more forceful than the wind. It was motion as of bodies, but no heartbeats. He couldn’t count how many there were. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you hear?”

“There’s going to be an ambush. Go find Elektra. I gotta go find out what they want.”

Foggy’s heart spiked way high, but his voice remained neutral. “The complexities of having a superhero boyfriend, I guess.” Foggy pulled him in for a soul-crushing kiss and let him go. “Good luck out there, stranger.”

Matt gave him a sad nod and headed outside.

There were a lot of them. There had to be. They were circling this entire area. Some of them were on the roof. There would be no way.

Fuck. Shit. The one time Stick had to be right about something.

A figure was gesticulating instructions from the woods, upwards motions, as if to indicate the top floor, where Rosalind was currently taking calls. Not his usual terrain, and there were so many of them. But tonight, Matt was just a party goer, and he had the advantage of stealth. Steadying himself, he walked back inside and started to covertly make his way up the stairs.

“Matt!” Foggy called. Elektra was right behind him. “What’s going on?”

“Your mother’s in danger and there are, potentially, two dozen guys or more without heartbeats surrounding the area.

“I’ll get my mom,” Foggy volunteered, already dashing up the staircase ahead of the other two, antsily waiting on the balls of his feet.

“I’ll get the roof,” Matt offered.

“I guess I’m on the floor, then.” Elektra took her heels off and wielded them like weapons. “If I die, find a way to bring me back.” With that, she ran outside.

“Right,” Foggy said nervously. He ripped of his delicate mask and went off in search of his mother with Matt at his heels. Foggy started kicking open doors all along the hall.

Matt jumped out of the nearest window and climbed onto the roof where literal ninjas were standing at the ready, impossible to read like normal bodies. Cheers to new experiences. Matt took a kick to the face as Foggy finally found his mother.

“Franklin!” She said from the office desk, phone still at her ear. “What are you doing?”

“We have to get out of here. There are people after you,” he informed her. He grabbed for her hand and lifted her from her seat. “Like, they’re on the roof right now.”

“What do you think you’re doing? Let go of me!” She struggled out of his grasp and slapped him. The world stilled for a moment to let the echo dissipate into the night.

“I have businesses to oversee, I don’t have time for your games!” she said.

A ninja crashed through the window and unsheathed their pair of sickles.

“Fuck!” Foggy grabbed Rosalind and pulled her in for a tight hug, using his body to shield her. “Believe me now? Get your head out of your ass for three goddamn minutes and listen to me!”

Rosalind stayed silent and collapsed onto the floor. Foggy turned around, raising his meaty and useless fists. A blade raised in the night and sliced into Foggy’s flesh, right across the chest.

“Stop!” Matt cried, making it through the window. Just in time to get a good whiff of Foggy’s blood. “Leave them be.”

The ninja didn’t listen. Of course they didn’t listen. Matt and Foggy did their best to keep them from kidnapping Rosalind, who shook in fear, back towards a wall.

They didn’t stop coming for a long while. Not until one of their leader’s head was sliced clean off their shoulders by a dark figure outside.

The Hand soldiers in the building immediately scrambled outside to help their dismembered leader. They were like wasps in a hive.

“Pussy shit,” Stick said as he sauntered his way deeper into the woods. He drew the rest of the soldiers away from the scene. Matt tracked Elektra as she followed them, kitchen knives in hand, barefoot.

Matt turned to the Sharpes, breathing heavily from what they’d just seen.”I gotta go,” Matt told them, shrugging off his waistcoat to wrap around Rosalind. “Stay safe. Call in some ambulances.” Matt left the building through the window and headed towards the woods.

-

“This doesn’t mean we forgive you,” Elektra said, typing up her hair with her ribbon mask. She spat blood into the dirt and stopped to sit down on a stump.

“I don’t give a flying fuck. If you’re not going to be useful anymore, just go.”

“You’re bleeding. We can get you to a hospital,” Matt suggested.

“I cut my damn hand off. I’m fine.” Stick walked away, bleeding. He didn’t look back, nor did he lose composure as he made his way back to whatever circle of Hell he crawled out of.

-

Matt waited on the roof as Foggy talked it out with his mother, the Batman mask long lost in the trash somewhere. The night was quiet now, and everyone else was either at the hospital or back home. Only four people were injured at the entire event, and none were fatally wounded. It was a successful night. That metric, of course, was quite subjective.

“This is terrible, I’m so sorry. I promise this won’t besmirch your hall’s reputation,” Rosalind was saying pleasantly to the workers who were cleaning up the mess. A manager, still shaking from the experience, seemed not to be taking in a word of it.

“Don’t worry about it. Please, you can go home,” she answered back. “It’s not your fault.”

“We can pay for any damage,” Sharpe kept offering.

“No, no. Please. Just go back home. Your son needs you.”

“He’s a man, now. He can take care of himself. Let me offer you something-”

“Ms. Sharpe. Please. Look at your son. He is  _ crying _ . He could have left ages ago, and he’s waiting for you. Please, just talk to him. I’m okay. My staff is okay. You’re not needed here.”

Sure enough, Foggy was crying. Soft, steady tears. His head was towards the ceiling, and he breathed quietly.

“Let’s go,” Rosalind ordered, snidely. They only made it as far as the steps before Foggy had to sit back down.

“Are you even sorry?” Foggy asked.

“That this night was a disaster? Of course. None of your friends are going to be talking about this in the best light.”

“You’ve never hit me before,” he said softly. “Are you sorry about that?”

“Franklin, you were acting hysterical. You were scaring me-”

“Mom. Rosalind. Look, I know you never cared about me, but this is too much, okay? I never asked for this party. I never asked for your money. I never asked to be your son. I’m going to ask Anna to adopt me.”

“You’re 22. It’s a little late for adoption, isn’t it?” Rosalind scoffed.

“I don’t care. You almost died. I almost died, and you don’t even-” Foggy exhaled shakily. “I’m paying my own way through law school. I’m going to go into public defense. I’m not going to inherit your throne. I’m going to change my name, and you’re not going to be a part of my life anymore.”

Rosalind slapped him again. She was so small. How was she so vile? Matt shivered for Foggy’s sake.

“You’re talking to your mother. Show a little respect.”

“Fuck you!” Foggy cried, standing up to look at her in the eyes. “You were never my mother! I came to your house, like, five days a year and all you’d do is tell me to, what, lose weight and cut my hair? You walked in on Judith putting her hands on me and you let her be my nanny for years!”

“She was a personal friend, I wasn’t going to ruin her reputation over you. You were a child! You hardly saw her enough for it to matter,” Rosalind countered.

Foggy seethed. “Whatever. I’m done. Have a good life, Rosalind.”

“Franklin.”

“Shut up.”

“You know I do everything for you. I love you.”

“No!” Foggy screamed. “You don’t love me. I saved your life today. Did that even register? Your son, the flaming queer fat Jew, the embarassment at all your fucking potlucks,  _ I  _ saved your life. I’m going to need stitches for this shit, and guess what? I stayed to check up on you because I thought  _ you’d  _ be scared. I thought, for once, you’d show a little affection in my direction. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“You’re  _ my  _ son, Franklin. I just want to see you succeed.”

“Fuck you. I’m not your son anymore. You don’t get to talk to me anymore.” Foggy started to walk away and paused at the bottom of the stairs. “You know, I used to want to please you. I used to think that if I could just be like you wanted me to be, you’d be happy and I’d be happy because you’d be happy. So fuck you again, Rosalind. I know what real love looks like.”

Rosalind made a grab for him, but Foggy stopped it with a hand twice as thick as hers.

“Don’t touch me,” he ordered.

Foggy left, and he didn’t look back this time.

-

Foggy cried into Anna’s arms, and Matt was just on the other side of the couch. They all smelled like hospital and leftover brisket, having just had some medical care and having shovelled food in their hungry and adrenaline-high mouths. They sat in the Nelson residence, processing it all at three in the morning.

“Oh, it’s okay, bubbeleh. I’m here. Your Anna’s here, baby,” she comforted. “It was very brave what you did. I’m very proud of you.”

Foggy gasped and wailed, but he was calming down now. “Do you want to be my legal mother?” Foggy asked between gulpfuls of air.

“I’d love nothing more, honey. You’ve always been my baby boy,” she kissed his hair.

“I’m such a mess,” Foggy frowned.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight. Want me to set up the couch so you can sleep here?”

“Yes, please,” Foggy said, hiccupping. “Can Matt stay?”

“Of course, dear. But Theo’s just in the other room, and your baby cousins are visiting, so let’s not traumatize them, alright?”

“Mom! Shut up!” Foggy laughed, finally laughed, and Matt breathed a sigh of relief. “God, mom, I love you so much. You know that, right?”

“Of course. I love you, too, Foggy.”

When the bed was set for them, and they were lying next to each other in the night, not quite sleeping, Theo shuffled up to them. He shook Foggy awake, gently, and Foggy lifted his face up to meet his brother’s eyes.

“Is it true?” Theo asked.

“What?”

“You’re gonna be my full brother now?” He said it curtly, as if disinterested.

“Yeah,” Foggy replied, just as blunt. Theo kneeled down and brought Foggy in for a long hug.

“Foggy Nelson sounds better than ‘Sharpe’ anywho,” Theo told him between sniffles.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Foggy laughed softly into his brother’s shoulder and they broke away.

“Candace is gonna be so mad she missed this.”

“Serves her right for going to Pennsylvania for college.”

“Don’t be mean. that’s my sister, you dingus!” Theo joked. He wiped at his eyes a little.

“Mine, too, buttwipe! Go get some sleep before mom yells at me for corrupting you.”

Theo nudged him lightly and sighed. “Okay, good night.” He walked back to his room excitedly and tucked himself in under the covers.

When Foggy’s breathing started to calm down again, Matt curled himself up to Foggy’s back.

“I love you, Foggy Nelson.”

“Right back at you, Murdock,” Foggy sighed, and fell asleep.

-

Matt and Foggy sat next to each other by the bonfire they had made, roasting marshmallows. They went camping together in the final few days of summer. They watched the sun rise and set together. They collected shells by the beach. They ate at shitty diners that overcooked their bacon and undercooked their eggs.

In the back of Foggy’s car, they had packed boxes of things they didn’t need anymore. Painful memories of Stick burned in the fire. Torn clothes, old training weapons, worn-through gloves and bloody bandages in spades sputtered and raised the smoke as the boys ate and ate their share of s’mores. Foggy had boxes of memorabilia, too. Old lessons in piano, guitar, glockenspiel and accordian. Some clothes that Rosalind had bought him through the ages. Some old photos of Foggy looking uncomfortable. Each in turn, made it into the fire.

“Oh, I found one we can’t burn,” Foggy said, handing something over to Matt. Worsted wool.

“We can match again,” Matt smiled, putting on the formal waistcoat on top of his sweater.

“Yeah, buddy,” Foggy smiled back, pressing a chocolate kiss to Matt’s neck and licking it off. “Don’t move on too fast without me, alright?”

“We’re not breaking up just because summer’s over,” Matt replied, certain and unwavering.

“But it won’t be fair to you. You’re a hot commodity, and I can barely expect you to stay true when I’m balls deep in school.”

“No, Foggy. I’m going to Columbia,” he explained.

Foggy gaped for a second. “Wait, what?”

“I got into Columbia. I start law school when you do. Did I forget to say?” Matt frowned, trying to remember.

“Yeah, you did, you dick. I was agonizing over this. I was going to be all noble about letting you run free and everything! We were going to have hot sex in that tent and commune with nature all poetically,” Foggy frowned. “You know, for the memory of it.”

Matt laughed at him. “We can still do that. But we’re not breaking up.”

“No, we can’t do the tent now! I have to make a few phone calls. You’re gonna room with me.”

“There’s no reception out here. Let’s just get back in the tent for now,” Matt pleaded.

“Congratulations on getting in, by the way. Now we have to celebrate somehow, too.”

“The tent is right there.”

“No, it’s gotta be something bigger.”

“Foggy-”

“I’m going to catch a fish for you!”

“Tent-”

“Fine,” Foggy ceded, kissing Matt wetly on the mouth. “But with God as my witness, we’re going to be roommates.”

And they were roommates.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry to end on a dead meme
> 
> EDITED: 09222019: edited grammar, spelling, some prose for flow, and also i tried to make sure Foggy's diet followed kashrut. somehow this added nearly 1k words. lol
> 
> [tumble ](https://artbymintcookies.tumblr.com/)


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